


Teenage Dream

by livink



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mild Blood, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sharing a Bed, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Tony Feels, tony gets beat up often: fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21643195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livink/pseuds/livink
Summary: Tony Stark develops a crush on the school's bad boy who is too cool to hang out with anyone. At least, it's what Tony thinks. He never considered that James Barnes is probably as lonely as he is.(in the process of editing)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 82
Kudos: 415





	1. Chapter 1

He’s bad news as far as all bad news goes.

He’s blue eyed, smirk face, dog-tag wearing rude motherfucker with v-neck tugged down until wiry chest hair peeks out and his lips wrapped snugly around a beer bottle rim- stretched taut.

Tony has dreams of him. The bad kinds. The ones which Howard would punch him for and lock him in another closet. As if he doesn’t already feel closeted enough. 

It’s not like Tony can help it; how guy struts down the hallway; leather clad legs and black leather jacket on, his helmet clipped under his arm and he leers at everybody; like the devil himself walked up to earth to summon Armageddon.

He’s wild in his ways, he snarls when he opens his mouth. He has no friends; he wants no friends.

He always has his eyes closed in class, like he’s in some kind of perpetual sleep and when the bell rings, he’s out of the door lightning fast. He’s moulded out of mystery and Tony thinks even their Biology teacher - 26, fresh graduate, with boobs that makes all the girls cry and curvy in the way that puts Jessica Rabbit to shame—also crushes after him.

It’s the bad news vibe, the bad boy looks. Everything about him screams danger but flames attract moths to them and the general law states that’s precisely how the world acts in reality. 

Mystery and danger drive people in and it’s inevitable; Tony tells himself when he wakes up on yet another morning, sheet stained and smelling, shame grousing at him like vulture claws.

He goes to school with his backpack clutched to his front. The last time he wore it on his back, someone yanked at it until his skull cracked.

It’s militarized zone is what it is. High school. Where everybody hates everybody for no reasons. Might as well be strutting down the wall street and Tony doubts he’ll feel as threatened there as he does here.

“Walk along, Stark.” The school jock yells from the other side of the parking lot. It’s not even a threat but knowing what Caleb of the football team can do to him, Tony flinches, ducks and scurries away. But just like it started, the day proves to be yet another doomsday for him.

In the span of time Tony’s struggling with his car key, dropping it three times before picking it up and finally locking his car and taking one step away from the parking lot, Caleb and his band of goonies corner him and beat him up.

No problem, it’s why he’s always 20 minutes earlier from the bell.

He cleans up, washes away the red, dabs away the bruises, wipes off the painful hiss and he skitters down the path of shadows until he’s alone and he’s in class.

The door slams open barely a minute after and Tony flinches again and instinctually freezes.

It’s the guy. That guy. His blood curdles in his veins and his heart hammers more than it did when Caleb pummelled at his face. He swallows the grating sand lining his throat and forces himself back into motion.

The guilt flares brighter than the summer sun as he remembers how it felt when he dreamt of that guy. Hot skin, hotter lips, deft fingers and experiences. He remembers every kiss, every touch and shame, shame,  **shame** .

The chair scrapes on the linoleum beside him and he watches from the corner of his eyes as the guy sits down. No bag, no care; nothing at all and he carries that so well. Tony envies him something different, he wants to feel that carefree too. To give that zero amount of fucks and be so wild the world scares to touch you. He wants to be that guy and yet he also wants that guy.

It’s complicated.

Its teenage dreams and high school crushes. Neither will mean anything when he’s finally out of this hellhole one day. And Tony, he looks forward to that day.

Something plops onto his table, interrupting his wistful thoughts. A hankie.

Off white, crumpled but clean looking.

A hankie.

He looks at the only other person who’s in the room besides him but that person has his head on the table, arms folded around, hands pillowing and he looks – most likely pretending, but excellently – to be asleep.

Tony blinks, picking up the piece of cloth gingerly afraid if he holds it any wrongly, it will lash out and bite him in the nose.

“You got blood down your left ear.” Comes a muffled rasp and Tony beats the odds to keep himself from jumping a foot high from the ground.

Heart pounding, palms clammy, he stutters out meekly; “Doe- Does this belong to you?” And he knows how he sounds. 15 years old among 17’s and his voice has just started cracking around its seams.

Sometimes he sounds like a man. Other times, he sounds like a girl.

This time, it’s the latter to his utter embarrassment. His company seems to agree to that. Snorting softly as he peeks above his folded arms to regard Tony amusedly; squinting with pressed cheek and ruffled brown hair, and he still looks so dashing, Tony wishes he’s anywhere but here.

“Unless it fell down from above, it’s mine all right.” He drawls with a devilish smirk, accompanying it with a wink and Tony almost melts in his rickety thirty years old chair.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, twirling the soft fabric around his fingers, with heart a mile per minute, he doesn’t have it in place to use someone’s still clean handkerchief to dab at his dirty blood. Also, there’s the fact that he needs a mirror and there’s none within his reach.

So he fiddles and fiddles, musing about all the above, and at the same time, trying to breathe calmly so he doesn’t faint from merely being in the guy’s presence.

The guy. AKA, James Buchanan Barnes.

Tony knows what his name is. He’s not stupid. In fact, he’s a certified genius with IQ border-lining America’s greed to pluck him right off of his father’s palm if not for Howard’s insistence to get Tony educated in the way he wants, where he wants; be his goddamn puppet while he yanks the strings whichever way he prefers.

If not for Howard, Tony would be in one of those genius schools.

If not for Howard, Tony wouldn’t have this problem where his attention is periodically robbed off of his homework whenever Barnes crosses his line of sight. And he wouldn’t have hacked the school site, snooped around its students' files and found all about who that guy is.

That guy, being James Buchanan Barnes.

Dead mother, drunken father; only child who has to support his ass most days to just get by on this planet.

Tony’s not stupid. He knows the helmet in Barnes’ locker is a second hand he probably swooped from a donation bin.

He knows the bike is not something Barnes’ could afford, so it’s either a gift or he found it and repaired it until it works.

Not stolen.

Never stolen.

Because Barnes may look like it, but he’s far, far away from the bad boy image he portrays for the rest of the world. He may have a dog tag and leather jacket on. A line of studs over his boots where his ankles meet and a dangerous glint to his smirks-not-smiles. But he’s never touched another person the way some of those other students Tony sees do.

He never punched or bullied or talked down to anyone.

He never disrespected his teachers even if he failed his classes sometimes.

He got into detention twice; once for breaking Caleb Dorran’s nose and the second time for coming late to class with a blotched bruise on the left side of his face.

James Buchanan Barnes is all good wrapped in a bad boy package and the hankie wrapped around Tony’s fingers is a testament to that fact.

“Wipe it.” The command startles him to flinch and duck his head, bracing for attack. Fuck his reflexes, evolved to run like the pussy his father tells him he is.

He straightens up as his company tsks, standing up with a loud screech of wood against the floor and Tony watches his genuine fear in his eyes as Barnes approaches him with determination clouding his eyes.

But when he speaks, it’s whisper soft, unlike the harsh yank he gives to the hankie in Tony’s hand. But so much like the dab he gives to Tony’s left ear, gingerly, slowing down when Tony flinches – not from pain but from anticipation. And he’s careful. Extremely careful, in stark contrast to the careless way he’s plopped over Tony’s desk, finishing his task until he hums with satisfaction and tucks the hankie back into Tony’s slack hand.

Tony wonders if he has something else on his face, because Barnes looks at him like he does for a long, long minute that seems to stretch into an uncomfortable eternity.

Then he pulls back so the short distance between them becomes long again – but not too long like when he was at his desk and Tony at his. And he murmurs with a curious tilt to his head – his blue-grey eyes as intense as the day Tony caught their attention in the hallway; “You wash that for me okay?”

And Tony still flabbergasted by everything that had just happened, nods at him dumbly – unaware his jaw has gone slack and his lips parted open under Barnes’ attention. Until Barnes taps his finger under his chin making him close his mouth and he chuckles when Tony goes brick red with flooding shame.

-

He washes it over the sink in his bathroom. The blood is hard to come off, but he found some tricks on the internet and is careful as he executes them; sagging in relief when he manages to get it cleaned with no damage to the fabric itself.

Maybe he got it too white, on a second thought.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t give it back even when two days passed to ten and he’d come across Barnes every single day in the hallway.

Or maybe it’s because Barnes never looked at him.

Not a single nod of acknowledgement even when they’re seated next to each other in about three classes out of those ten days.

It’s like when Barnes looks at him – if he does – he’s looking over him. Not at him.

And that actually … hurts.

Even if Tony didn’t have any expectation tucked under his belt, it hurts. Like all hopes do. And perhaps when Barnes gave him the hankie that day, Tony had festered a hope unbeknownst to himself.

A hope so subtle, it didn’t even feel when it spread – through the contact, through the request; “You wash that for me okay?” – until it was too late and Tony’s realising that perhaps when Barnes asked him to wash it for him, he meant just that.

Wash it. Not to return it.

So he pressed the crease out of the now too white fabric, folds it into four and hides at the bottom of his folded laundry.

That way, he won’t have to look at it anymore.

\- 

But he can’t stop thinking about it.

Like a tattoo, it’s been engraved to his memories and now, it’s as futile as avoiding food on a daily basis. Either something happens that brings the thought of it to the front of his mind or he remembers it by himself inevitably.

It’s the former when he’s closing the gym locker after storing his stuff; the feel of his spare tee’s fabric lingering with a familiar weight on his fingers as he rubs them roughly down his gym shirt.

He’s too distracted, trying to push away the thought of the hankie and other memories that are stitched along its seam when someone pushes him head first up the cold locker.

His nose collides painfully, and he tries not to think too much about the burn at its bridge, focusing on ways to escape from the predicament he’s trapped in.

He just about breathes in relief because the weight pinning him up disappears when another body slams against him. And another.

Another.

And another.

There’s blood trickling down his nose –

And another.

“Fag.”

God, he thinks. Refusing to let his knees buckle as he holds himself forcefully plastered against the locker out of pure spite.

He doesn’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this.

He waits for the impact to come, holding his breath and counting to ten. But ten becomes twenty and twenty becomes fifty before he dares to breathe.

Before he dares to turn around and see that nobody’s left but him alone. There. In that stinky stupid gym room with a nosebleed and bones aching to their core.

Numbly, he opens his locker, retrieves his stuff and skips the last period. 

He enters the last stall in the boy’s loo. Slamming the door shut as he yanks the gym shirt off of him, struggling when his head gets stuck; clashing frustration with shame, anger and every other bad feelings to make him tear up and ultimately break down.

Gut wrenching sobs leaving his chest as he heaves, heaves and heaves.

Blindly reaching for the toilet lid with a shaky hand and closing it so he can finally let his knees buckle and give out on him.

Fuck. He’s so tired.

Tired of holding on. Tired of fighting. Tired of keep hoping the world will be better when he graduates; but he knows. He knows it’s just another far-fetched dream.

People like Caleb make up 90% of the world's population.

Bullies.

Bullies everywhere.

And who’ll Tony be among them?

He refuses to even entertain the idea that he may as well, be one of them. One day. When the days get tougher and his heart gets harder; walls upon walls around it and nothing soft and caring left within him anymore.

No. He doesn’t want to be that. He never ever wants to be them.

Choking on a silent sob, he wipes the endless tears with his gym shirt. Over and over until his eyes feel sore and he presses his nose, so he doesn’t make any sound when it empties its snot. Over and over until he’s sure he got them all, and he gives one harsh blow.

Just one. Because then, if someone is out there, they’d think he’s sick with the flu. Not crying.

It’s all about practice.

Like how he knows that he has to tip his head up and feel the rest of his snot run down and keep blinking until the warmth around his eyes subside and he can feel the cool air again. That way, it will minimize the redness.

Not completely gone but at least, he wouldn’t look like he’d been bawling his eyes out recently; maybe last night. But not right now.

Pity because if they have a water source in the stalls, he’d run the water over his eyes until it’s completely gone. A perfect cover up.

But they don’t. So he has to duck his head and listen carefully so there’s no one outside before he tiptoes to the sink outside and gets the job done. This is why he hates crying. Such a tedious shit to hide.

He’s pretty sure he’s alone when he dares to open the door to his stall. Except when he steps out, there’s a pair of legs swinging at his eyes level – which scares the shit out of him, until he looks up and finds the one person he’d rather die than to face right about then.

James Barnes.

Fuck, he curses inwardly. Eyes closing and immediately ducking his head, deciding to pretend that he is alone and Barnes is not here; after all, that’s the type of person Barnes is – someone who minds his own business. Like a ghost.

As long as Tony doesn’t bother him, he will not be acknowledged. So he pulls himself together and stubbornly marches to the water faucet. Running the tap water and for a moment, letting the sound of that drown everything else around him.

And he washes away the last evidence of his breakdown.

Feeling less swollen and congested after the fifteenth rinse, he closes the faucet and wipes himself dry with the clean corner of his gym shirt. He looks in the mirror to detect any leftover evidence, eyes darting towards the corner where the studded boots are still swinging in their own rhythm – a quiet thud, thud, thud, in the background against the wall.

Heaving a breath in, he runs his fingers through his hair until they’re somewhat acceptable looking and turns around to leave. Except that’s when Barnes chooses to say something.

“Think you got something of mine with you.” He drawls out lazily. Tony doesn’t have to look at him to envision the thick swirl of cigarette smoke leaving his pretty mouth.

He clears his throat, but he still ends up sounding rough. “It’s not with me now. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

He tugs on the strap of his bag when Barnes says nothing back. Thinking that’s about it, he clears his throat again signalling his leave when a louder thud echoes, scaring him out of his skin.

Barnes seems to have abandoned his seat on the tall window sill and hopped down to confront Tony.

The remnant of his fear and vigilance from the changing room haunts him to flinch when he gets turned around to face Barnes face to face. He’s terrified of looking up and facing the anger on the guy he has inexplicably developed a crush on. Someone he’d come to respect because he’s not like the others and he’s more scared of being proven wrong about that by Barnes than say, getting threatened with a punch or two for not returning his property.

But once again, Barnes proves to be the better person.

Simply by tilting Tony’s head and examining him under excruciatingly devastating piercing blue eyes. “You got blood on your nose this time.” He observes curiously. “Is there ever a time you never have blood on you? Or a broken something?” He tilts his head, this time asking Tony directly – to which Tony snaps out of his trance looking like a gulping goldfish.

He steps away and shrugs, eyes trained on his shoes because he doesn’t think he can handle that much of blue, and it’s one of those rare times when he’d been driven speechless.

Barnes makes a weird sort of grunt, circling around – Tony observes the way the studded boots scuffle and move on the dirty floor – where he pauses to give a ruffle to Tony’s head, taking him by surprise and then, he’s gone.

Leaving Tony blinking dumbly in the boy’s bathroom wondering if he’d just hallucinated all of that.

-

Back in the solace of his room, Tony pulls open the drawer and flips over all the other clothes until he finds what he’s after.

The now pristine white hankie, folded neatly into four and looking like Barnes may never recognize it as his off the bat.

Which he mulls, if he has to explain why’s that to him. He’s not looking forward to it, but may as well prepare a speech so he doesn’t stutter and make a fool of himself when Barnes asks him what happened to his precious hankie.

He drags the material over his hand, unfolding it and twirling it around his trigger finger; basking in the familiarity of its feel which he had forcefully buried just yesterday. After tomorrow, he will not have it at all.

At least when he’d stored it away, he had the security blanket of always being able to go back to it to lean on. But tomorrow, when he hands it over to its rightful owner, Tony can’t deny but accept that he’ll truly miss this little trinket Barnes had loaned over to him.

He keeps it by his side while he finishes his homework.

Folds it back into four and tucks it beneath his pillow when dinnertime comes and when he goes to sleep, he slips a hand beneath the pillow and sleeps with the feel of that fabric caressing his palm.

Weird. But Anthony Stark has always been known to be weird, so what’s new in that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: physical assault

He wakes up with a mission in his mind. To return the damned hankie before it suffocates him.

His mind is still reeling from his early morning debacle witnessed by his table lamp. Uncalled for dreams and soiled sheets. Shame quelling up in his gut as he begins the day with frustration drilling into his bones.

He reaches school thirty minutes before the bell. They have History together for first period. Barnes always comes in ten minutes early for his first class of the day. But Tony forgets about that.

His brain is hammering with anxiety and the hankie in his pants’ pocket feel like it weighs the earth. His ears are ringing as he locks his car and marches into the bike shed.

Wrong move.

Should have known.

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have known.

But he wasn’t, and the first shove up his chest knocks the breath out of him. He corrects himself the very last second before he goes down. The adrenaline is already singing in his veins from the moment he startled awake this morning. So when he sees another shove coming his way, they roar and his own fist connects with one of the bullies gut.

He barely moves.

Catching Tony’s bony fist in his and he twist it back so the muscles in Tony’s shoulder scream.

Someone kicks him in the gut.

Someone else grabs his ass. “Bet you like getting fucked here, huh?”

There’s a slap that echoes through his head and he feels something swell within him, somewhere. He sees the second one coming and he keeps his eyes open. If he’s going down, he’ll see himself going down. He won’t hide and be a coward.

But the hand doesn’t connect. His own hand comes free and the guy who’d been holding him captive yowls behind him.

It’s a quick flash of sequences that leaves him breathless in the end, like it all happen in a fast forwarded motion, when really, they’re dragged out movements. But all Tony could register is one punch, a kick and an upper cut and everyone’s scampering around to leave.

The shame in his gut – remnant from the dawn – blossom with hurt and threatens to swallow him as Barnes meets his eyes.

He’s panting, hands over his knees as he catches his breath and with the rising sun spilling its ray on the side of his face, he looks like an archangel sent from heaven above.

Fitting, since Barnes had just – sort of. Kinda? Okay, maybe surely – rescued him from getting his spleen ruptured.

Unable to shake himself out of his stupor, Tony mechanically fishes out the hankie and hands it over to him. “Thank you.” He croaks, wincing when his jaw cricks and a flare of pain spread through his nerves.

He sees the way Barnes’ pupils darken when he lifts his hand to feel for his jaw’s hinge. Hesitant, he drops his hand down with the barest of touch, confused by his own reaction because well, his jaw and his hand, why is he backing up just because Barnes looks angry at that?

He’s spared just a second to think about that before Barnes’ straightens up, stealing every morsel of his attention as he struts up to Tony, one hand smoothly extracting the held out hankie and only stepping when they’re chest to chest against one another.

Tony takes a step back. Barnes doesn’t chase after him. Instead he reaches out with the hankie and drags it gently down the corner of his mouth. His other hand holds the side of Tony’s jaw – the less painful side – carefully and tips it down so he can palpate the opposite end.

“Not broken.” He gives his verdict, deep and gravelly. Tony has a moment of envy for how manly he sounds at the age of 17, his mind immediately working on predicting how he will a decade later and Tony shuts that train of thought abruptly. Unnecessary, he tells himself.

Another swipe of the smooth fabric pulls him back to the present and he winces at the sharp pain coursing from his split lip. Barnes doesn’t falter. Keeps the edge of the hankie pressed with one hand against the corner of Tony’s mouth while he reaches for the side of Tony’s rib with searching eyes.

It’s only once Tony gives a nod that he proceeds, gently cupping beneath Tony’s left chest area and progressively applying pressure until Tony pulls away with a hiss and he drops his hand with a frustrated sigh.

“You need to see the nurse.” He says seriously.

Tony hunches over, arms wrapped around his midriff, stepping further and further away from Barnes, “No, thank you.” He forces a smile onto his face, wincing when his lips sears with sharp pain. “It’ll be fine.” He tries to sound convincing but ends up sounding breathless instead.

Barnes reaches out for him when he trips over his own foot, tumbling backwards. “Seriously, I don’t know if it’s broken or -, ”

“It’s not.”

Barnes blinks at him, like he’s really focusing onto Tony, seeing him for the first time. “You don’t know that.” He says slowly.

Tony’s fingers twitches at his side. “Doesn’t matter,” He shakes his head, because it really doesn’t. Cracked or broken? It just needs taping if he’s breathing fine and he _is_ , breathing fine.

Besides, mission accomplished. He really has nothing to do here anymore, so he steps aside and away. “Thank you for… well, all that and – and, that, urm hankie too. Sorry it’s urm bloodied but I- I’m gonna go now. So, yeah.”

The sharp inhale flares up some shit ton of pain but he bites them all back, loosening the pressure over his bruised ribs as he bends over to pick up his backpack – that Barnes graciously stops him from so he can pick it up for him and really. Tony just wants to go home.

“Thanks.”

“You- You know how to tape a rib?”

“I can google it up.” Tony shrugs mildly, which apparently is the breaking point for Barnes.

“Alright, kid.” He scrubs his face. “I don’t know why you don’t want to see the nurse, but I’m not leaving you like this.”

Tony honestly bristles. “Why do you even care?”

And Barnes fucking snaps, “Cause I’m not who y’all think I am, okay. I got conscience and you look like fucking shit. You’re fucking bleeding every fucking time I see you and that’s fine, alright. What’s not fine is that you go home like this and you sit on your bed and you don’t wake up anymore because something, somewhere, inside there, is broken and I’m not gonna let that happen, you hear me?”

For a moment there, just a second, in between ‘wake up’ and ‘you hear me’, Tony has this desperate urge to laugh, because _something, somewhere, inside there, was already broken_.

Instead, he sucks in a shuddering breath and he wills his eyes to not twitch as much as he glares Barnes down, “What do you want me to do?”

Between the inhale and the twitch, Barnes seems to calm down. “You’re letting me tape that rib.”

And Tony, exhausted beyond everything, simply breathes and mouths, “Fine.”

-

They go to Tony’s house. Barnes tagging behind with his big bad bike while Tony leads the way in his Honda, the defiant pinch between his brows is still there since Barnes argued with him to let him give him a ride. And since Barnes doesn’t own a car license and Tony is stubborn all sorts, they settled with Barnes scowling and Tony frowning for the moment.

He leads the other boy through the garage door, calling for Jarvis and breathing in relief when no one answered.

Sneaking around with Barnes was nothing like what he imagined.

One, he’s not really looking like how he’d imagined – no, dreamt, okay, _nightmares_ – he would when he’s alone with Barnes at home. While for another, it fucking hurts to breathe. Damn.

“Jarvis your dad?” Barnes asks, muffled by the gauze between his teeth. He got all the necessary things out on the bathroom counter, but he strictly kept Tony seated on the toilet lid. “You move, it gets worse.” He’d grumbled and Tony gladly complied, now that all the adrenaline’s receding, the pain’s spreading like a wildfire.

“I wish.” Tony grits out, biting back a hiss at the surge of pain with every breath he takes. It earns him a look but that’s where Barnes stops. Not another question asked and Tony’s never been more relieved to blurt out truth by accident in his life.

Barnes gets the job done neatly. Very clinical in his directions; “Hands up. Face sideways. Can you breathe?” If it wasn’t for the familiar sight of his shave products on the counter, Tony would have believed he was tricked into a hospital. That’s how convincing Barnes is. So it’s only given that he’s curious. “Planning on career in medical field?” He asks conversationally, running a hand down the tape, just to feel the clean work under his palm.

Barnes snorts dryly, throwing a glance at him over his shoulder – now that he’d lost the omnipresent leather jacket, Tony notes with a pleasant flutter in his belly that his crush – yes, he’d finally come to term with it, hush – has strong, albeit lean lines of gorgeous muscles under his threadbare t-shirt. Not helping, with the whole plan to quit having… non-consensual, sexual, dreams of him. Nuh’uh.

“I wish.” Barnes sneers and Tony takes a moment to realise that he’s throwing Tony’s line back at him. He doesn’t quite know if he should feel amused or offended by that. He decides to go with the latter, huffing in dislike and pulling his shirt back on with strained effort when Barnes decides to throw a curve ball at Tony.

“Not really loaded for that.” He shrugs simply, except everything about that tone is anything but simple. There’s that painful _longing_ there that Tony has no problem recognizing; having heard it way too often from his own mouth whenever he speaks to anyone anything about parents and family. But listening to it coming from someone else is… something else. Tony gets now, why people always try so hard to not respond to those with sympathy, because it is, hard.

Fortunately for Tony, his head is half in his shirt when Barnes tells him that, _and_ Barnes’ facing away from him, which means, Barnes never did see the widening of his eyes and the way his lips had parted in horrible, _horrible_ realisation. But that doesn’t mean he knows what to say next, so he waits, worming himself into the shirt bit by bit while he muses about ways to respond that preferably wouldn’t be offending when a pair of hand joins his force and gives a tug that ends his deliberate procrastination.

Barnes looks down at him with that same ‘too cool for you’ face, his own hands back in their pants’ pockets and Tony gulps, suddenly feeling too bared. More than he did, half naked a while ago.

“There’s always scholarship,” he says a beat after, teeth gnawing nervously at his lower lip as he painfully wishes that this won’t be the end to whatever Barnes and him have going on here. Even if for only one day – well, is it too creepy to not want to say something so wrong it sends Barnes running for the door? Yeah – well –

“Anthony Stark, the guy with solutions.” Barnes says as if he’s recounting a private joke – a knowing glint in his gorgeous eyes and Tony tries not to whimper. Hearing his name in that voice, it’s just – it does all kind of things – Well. Fuck. Now he cannot stop thinking about how Barnes will sound with his name on his tongue in the bedroom. Fuck – Stop, Tony! Fucking hormones -

“Th-That’s me.” Tony stutters, trying for a smile and hoping it comes out as one and not a grimace cause fuck, pain, he’s having a moment here with his crush so god, help –

“Yeah, that’s you.” Barnes cut off his train of thoughts and stealing his breath away with a single step into Tony’s V and reaches out to brush a thumb over the bruised jaw. Tony tries so hard to not shiver but he’s a weak, weak boy and Barnes is – he’s otherworldly. With his sparkling eyes – fuck, eyes don’t sparkle! Tony knows that. But – But, they do – a slight quirk to the corner of his mouth which is a tease for a smile and Tony aches to know how that’ll look on Barnes’ handsome face.

He bets Barnes will look heavenly – no, sinful. No, wait. He’ll look – He’ll – um –

“You do me a favour and try not to get beat up again, kay?”

With all due respect, Tony doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, but he nods.

“Can you do that?”

Another nod, eager this time.

And Tony still doesn’t know what, but wow, does it shamble his thoughts in the most brilliant way when it earns him a smile from Barnes. Give him an hour and Tony will come with a gazillion adjectives – pre-existing and newly created, all the same – to describe how Barnes looks, but right this second, all he can manage is –

“Wow.”

Jaw slack and eyes wide with blown out pupils, Tony probably looks reverent but it’s fine cause he’s having a religious experience with Barnes tilting his chin up so he could look up at Barnes with that gorgeous smile and one of his eyebrow arches up and the smile breaks into a grin and Tony follows his lead, beaming back at Barnes, completely blown out of his mind.

There are violins and saxophones playing in the background with some kind of cosmic unravelling and it doesn’t explain why he’s having this moment because it’s not like he hasn’t seen Barnes smile before – has he? He’s not sure. But there’s just something about being in an enclosed space with that guy who keeps invading your dreams in the most delicious way possible, who is also inherently kind to you every single time you’ve ran into him and he’s offered to fix you in your bathroom of all places and he’s so close, touching you tenderly like you’re going to break under his fingers and all these probably don’t even mean anything for him but it’s _your_ moment, and your moment alone. This is something that belongs to you and nothing can take it away from you, not even him.

And that’s trippy.

“You alright, Anthony?”

Oh yeah! He also apparently knows your name which is just –

“Wow.”

Barnes snorts which flows into a soft amused laugh that shakes Tony back into reality. He resurfaces with a blurry but still smiley ‘huh’ and then proceeds to turn fifty shades red, bright and glowing like tomatoes in spring. He can hear blood rushing to his head but his senses pick on Barnes’ laughter to focus on and truly, he’s not mad. Not really.

Barnes has a good throaty laugh; boyish, but throaty. It gives tingles and Tony’s beyond embarrassed to let a shudder wreck down his spine so he keeps mum and rigid, clenching his fists into balls and straightening his spine. 

“Follow my fingers will ya?” Barnes murmurs, one hand still curled around Tony’s neck, while he holds out two fingers and Tony complies, following them carefully and looking back up at Barnes when he stops moving them to find a pair of intense eyes trained on him, searching.

“You’re not concussed.” Barnes states, unblinking.

Tony stares at him, unable to tear away his own focus. “’M not.” He agrees dumbly. For a heavy minute, he has this absurd idea that Barnes is going to lean down and kiss him; all heavy passion like they do in the movies, fingers curling around the back of his ears, pulling and mouth mashing, tongues tasting and teasing and he’s so gone in that little fairy land that when Barnes drops the hand curled around his neck, he actually tries to follow before stopping short, catching himself.

“I should go.” Barnes says, sounding as rough as Tony feels. He doesn’t look at Tony, keeping his eyes stubbornly focused on a spot over his shoulder. _You don’t have to_ , is right there on Tony’s tongue. Right there, but he doesn’t say it.

Barnes’ hand reaches and then stop mid-air, Tony keeps his eyes focused on it because Barnes is still not looking at him. Tony waits, air filling out of his lungs with every passing second and he waits; what for exactly, he doesn’t know, but when the hand falls back to Barnes side and he turns away from Tony, he feels his heart drops with it.

He manages a small ‘Thank you’ as he watches Barnes go. No second look what so ever. Tony isn’t exactly waiting then; right by the open door. He isn’t, but he’s incapable of letting go of that little hope in him that had bloomed the day he got that hankie from Barnes and that thing is a festering little shit. It has taken a portion of Tony’s heart and made a home of it; a crush fenced by longing and wants, bordering around needs and right then, as he watches Barnes ride the rest of the way before he turns the corner, he feels all those festered menace suffocate the hell out of him. His throat aches and his eyes burn even if he hasn’t heard an outright rejection, he feels like he’s nursing one.

He hates himself for that. Has only himself to blame for this calamity. It’s awful and pathetic and Tony swallows the lump of tears in his throat; hasn’t Howard thought him enough to not go around falling in love?

Puppy love, Jarvis may say. It’s a puppy alright, Tony snorts humourlessly. And he’s at this cliff, hanging on the thinnest twig from falling when Barnes approaches the corner and stops, and he turns around.

Tony doesn’t have the perfect eyesight, he wears glasses most of the time, but even he can see where Barnes’ focus goes; on him, and the way he tenses. Maybe Barnes wasn’t expecting to see Tony still there. Maybe he’s embarrassed to be caught looking back. Whichever it is, Tony doesn’t care, all he feels is this crazy rush to just run and if he’s lucky, Barnes will too, and they’ll meet in the middle and hug. Maybe kiss –

But.

None of that happens. Gosh, of course none of that happens. What is he thinking?

Barnes turns away and rides away. Yep, Tony thinks. He really should stop letting Pepper dictate movie nights.

-

It’s only when Tony returns to the bathroom much later in the evening, intent on ridding himself of grease and motor oil stuck on his hand from trying to perfect the project Howard put him on, that he notices the bloodied hankie left on the sink counter.

Tony doesn’t know, why Barnes left that hankie there. But he methodically soaks in and washes it until it’s pristine and creamy white again. It’s his blood; his fault anyway. He hopes the next time he’ll be able to return the hankie in its clean state. As for the night, he’s too tired to think of the whys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hi, idk how frequent i'll update this but i hope to make it more than once a week. my goal is to finish this story before the year ends.   
> thank you for those who left kudos and a comment haha, i see ya and i appreciate. keep em coming, they are very motivating <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James POV

James offs the engine two blocks before his apartment building. He takes the back alley to an abandoned shed which he’d claimed as his own and parks his baby in, a shiny chain for lock and he throws a raggedy cloth over her then he closes the shed, locks it up with another chain, checks if the lock gives before he walks away.

It’s a short walk, he passes by the neighbourhood grocery shop on the way and he pays some cash for a loaf of bread. He’s fairly certain there’s a jar of something; either peanut butter or jam in the kitchen cabinet. He’s not fussy, even plain bread will suffice for dinner. He’s not hungry anyway.

He comes to a stop in front of the door. If he’s lucky, he’ll be alone tonight. If he isn’t…

Well, he hopes he’s lucky _; please, please, please be lucky,_ he chants under his breath as he unlocks the door. The floor is as clean as he left it this morning, except for a smudge of shoe print. That means his father had gotten back home but has left before James arrived. Great. Wonderful. Thank fucking god.

His relief comes out in a huff of laugh as he toes off his own shoes, mind going back to this morning with that kid. God. Fifteen, isn’t he? Fifteen years old and is about to graduate high school with James. What a brain is that, James cannot deny, he does wish he has one like that. He doesn’t know what genius weighs but it can’t be that bad is it.

Anthony Stark. Everyone knows about him. _The world_ knows about him, the lone heir to Stark Industries; son of _the_ business mogul. Yet, he’s nothing like a billionaire’s son. Nothing like a spoiled, rotten, brat.

If anything, James just wishes someone gives that kid a break. He’s bright, brilliant and he’s clearly the future. But those assholes in school take turn to bloody that kid up, like they owe it to him or something. It’s fucking frustrating is what it is. Especially when that stupid kid has no semblance of self-preservation what so ever. Every day. James sees his bruised and bloodied every single day!

_Like someone else we knew_ , his brain supplies and James drops the knife in surprise. The second slice of bread has a smear of jelly on, he’d buttered the first one and has been half way through the second when that – that thought had hit him.

Flipping the second slice over the first, he twists close the rest of the loaf, picks up the knife and washes it numbly. There was no reason for him to - to – well, anyway.

He picks up the sandwich and enters his room, locking the door in the process. There’s no need to be exposed in case his father manages to find his way back home tonight. James likes his face intact and not waste time in detention when he could spend that time earning money. Thank you very much.

But then, he does his homework; he finishes English and he starts on Maths and he remembers that Anthony kid all over again. He hopes the Jarvis guy or someone else forces him to get those ribs properly looked at. It’s expected to see someone like James, or kids from the same neighbourhood as James’ get beaten up and ignored, but a kid like Anthony, that high class fancy ass society people; it must not be normal, right? Shouldn’t Stark be pressing charges on the school or something for beating up his precious child like that?

James would. If he was a billionaire and his son got back from school looking like that, James would call up the school and ask what the hell happened. Whether he sues or not, that will be decided later, but hell, he’d want to know what happened to his child first.

But that’s not the case with Anthony is it? He gets beaten up on daily basis and no one has come to school to kick that Dorran kid’s ass out of State. Do his parents even care? Is that how it really is like to be billionaire’s kid? Your parents are too busy making money they don’t even see how you’re doing?

Well if that’s the case, then James could easily pretend to be a billionaire’s kid too. His father doesn’t give a fuck either. Maybe the difference is, when his father decides to give a fuck, he fucks James up pretty back, he may as well don’t even fucking bother in the first place. In that case, he guesses Anthony fared better than him anyway.

Sometimes…

Ah, forget it. There’s no use thinking about those kinds of things. Time spent on maudlin can be utilized for better things.

James taps the end of his pencil over his math book. He remembers what that kid had said about scholarship. _Tap, tap, tap_. It wouldn’t hurt to check that out now would it? He has an ambition, as much as he’s been valiantly trying to bury it along with Brooklyn, he does have one, and he can use all the help he could get to achieve that.

He finds one, bookmarks it, then he tries to work on Algebra but fails like usual. Giving up, he ends up flicking idly through cardiothoracic anatomy while his fingers busy themselves knotting and releasing surgical knots over and over again.

He goes to sleep with a beginning of a plan in his head, he’s not so sure how it’ll fare in the future, but for the first time, he dares himself to hope. He’s found a scholarship programme he can consider applying. All it needs is a little nudge to his Algebra results and his ambition will be attainable. It’s ridiculously easy and for the first time in two years, James allows himself to dream of his future.

-

When he wakes up, he has an idea. A name in his head, to be more specific, and he’s a little nervous about it, but now that he’d planted seeds of hope in his heart last night, there’s a will within him motivating him to achieve what once used to be a buried dream. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to try, especially if he’s going back to that same person who prompted this right?

Right.

Well. It’s still early; five in the morning. James has enough time to do the laundry, make another jelly sandwich for breakfast, chase bites of it with plain water as he half asses the rest of his Algebra homework. He gets out of the apartment ten minutes earlier than usual and when he narrowly escapes the shadow of his father’s drunken gait heading his way, he’s grateful for his decision. Once he reaches the shed, he does the usual round of getting out his baby, locking the shed up after making sure she’s all good for travel and by the time he rev’s down the road, he’s in a fairly good mood despite his nerves.

Speaking of nerves – there he is, right on cue. Geez. Just how early does this kid comes to school; seven on the dot. James isn’t one to speak, but he’s at least, usually, ten minutes later than seven. Anyway, he follows the car, the hum of his engine low as he trails behind Stark’s fancy car, and just as the boy parks, James revs the accelerator, announcing his presence before he heads to the bike shed to park his baby at. It’s a good thing that he catches the kid now, this way he can get his answers and move on faster to another plan in case he’s declined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a relatively shorter chap. just an inside to james' mind. but, just fyi, length of every chapter won't be consistent.   
> also, thank you for leaving those comments and kudos! <3 <3 <3 i see y'all and i send back all love to y'all. we're just getting started homies, buckle up. /wink wink/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV

James Barnes is a curious thing.

The next day, when Tony parks his car, he’s startled by a rev of engine which alerts him to a motorbike that rides too close to his side of the car before rounding to park in the bikes’ shed. For a brief moment, Tony’s frozen with his hand still around the seatbelt, mid-unhooking it. He knows that jacket, heck, he knows that back anywhere; it’s James Barnes is who that is, but that doesn’t explain the stunt.

Shaking his head, he gathers his stuffs and crams them into his bag, it’s too early to think, even for Tony’s genius brain. He opens the door and steps out, right on time to almost crash into Barnes.

“Wo- Woah, hey.” Barnes stops him, grabbing hold of Tony by the arms, chuckling.

Jesus, Tony thinks. This feels like a dream; too good of a dream, which means it’s impossible because Tony doesn’t think he deserves good dreams at all. But Barnes is right there, towering over Tony with his stupid windswept hair and leather jacket; fading flush from the crisp morning wind and he’s smiling at Tony. Unbelievable.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes bright, all that intensity focused solely on Tony.

 _Too early, too early, too early_ ; Tony’s mind chants numbly. But he nods, breath hitching when Barnes’ hand reaches to thumb along his jaw, his smile falling, lips pressed thin. Then – Then, he drops the hand casually, skimming down Tony’s left side; it’s such a carefully muted gesture that if anybody was looking, they wouldn’t know Barnes is checking for his ribs.

“You should have stayed home.” He mutters darkly, dropping his hands to his side and Tony misses the contact immediately.

He takes a step back from Barnes. “Ha - Had worse.” He shrugs, glaring at his shoes for that stupid stammering, completely missing the way Barnes’ look darkens. A weary sigh and Barnes reaches around Tony to slip something into his back pocket. Tony freezes and Barnes takes that moment to walk away, leaving Tony gawking at his sinuous back.

It’s still early, and since Caleb and his piss ass gang hasn’t arrived yet, Tony made it to his first class in record time.

“Did you just slip in a candy into my back pocket?” He asks, feeling braver than he’d ever in front of the lump of leather pretending to sleep. No response. Tony glares, hoping his eyes can shoot laser so Barnes would answer him. When nothing changed, he did something uncharacteristic and yanked the upturned jacket collar over Barnes head with a huff and walks off.

Or tries to, before he’s tugged back by a firm grip around his wrist and a pair of un-amused sharp eyes meet his surprised ones. Suddenly, that weird courage with which he touched Barnes seemed to be nowhere in sight and Tony gulps, a little scared under those smouldering grey, but really, he knows that there’s nothing to be scared about Barnes, but. Why is his heart beating so fast then?

“You hate mint?”

Tony shakes his head. Barnes tilts his head. “Then I don’t see a problem.”

“But wh-why?” Tony manages, pulse jumping. Barnes simply shrugs, fingers squeezing lightly around Tony’s wrist before he lets go. “I had extra.” It feels like an abortive move but at the same time, not really. Tony’s confused.

He’s very confused, with his wrist burning in reminder of where Barnes has touched, he plops on the seat to Barnes’s right. He could pick a seat far, far away from him, but it’s his usual seat and if he’s going to switch now, it’ll call for series of calamity once the rest of the class start pouring in. At the same time, he’ll just be practically announcing his fear to Barnes, so he sucks his breath, pinches his face and sits. Thanking small mercies for individual seats.

Except, before his butt touches the seat, Barnes says, “Hey,” causing Tony to tumble onto the chair at the last second and he clenches his eyes close in pure shame, because what the hell? Right in front of Barnes? Dammit. Barnes doesn’t laugh, but he definitely looks amused when Tony opens his eyes. “What?” Tony asks, trying to summon that same courage that nudged him to yank at Barnes’ collar earlier.

Barnes’ focus darts away and back to Tony a few times and he’s leaning back in his chair, seemingly ignorant as he rocks back and forth but something tells Tony that he’s not _that,_ and that Barnes is actually, shockingly, maybe nervous. Tony shakes his head because he must be losing it. Barnes can’t be nervous, Tony doesn’t think he even has the ability to get nervous. But the way his fingers play on the hem of his sleeve is saying something else...

“You – urm – You know what you said yesterday? About scholarships?” Barnes says in a rush, the end of his sentence coming out meekly before he coughs, eyes darting over Tony’s shoulder and holy shit, is that – is he blushing?!

“Yeah…,” Tony says, unsure of himself. If Barnes is nervous, then what should Tony do? Because being anxious and nervous is _Tony’s_ default setting.

“So… urm, I looked into it.” Now Barnes is definitely speaking to the wall behind Tony’s head.

Tony’s index flies to his mouth, his teeth ready to gnaw on the nail before he catches himself and promptly covers it with his other hand; bad behaviour. Dammit, now his knees start jumping. “D-Did you – er- find one?”

“I did.” Barnes eyes lock with his for a second and he laughs, breathy and abashed but god, Tony’s so damn fucked with this guy he barely – no, scratch that – he doesn’t even know, so gone that he feels like the world stops moving in that precious drag of second. Just – Wow.

But Barnes’ already ducking his head and when he looks up again, he’s focused solely on his sleeve and any trace of that laughter is gone, leaving a frown seated between his brows. “Um, I have – I’ve got what they want. Mostly. Well, I – er – my Algebra,” His glances quickly at Tony efore going back to fiddling with his sleeve, “You’re kinda genius right?”

“Huh?” Tony asks dumbly. At this point, his ears are ringing, he doesn’t know if this is reality or if it’s just another dream and Barnes is gonna suggest Tony to blow him or – hell – urm. “I – uh, I’m sorry, what?”

The shift is immediate. From the subtle nervous fiddling to the tense of his shoulders and the way that jaw clenches, Tony watches with his lips parted as Barnes look him straight in the eyes, glaring – no, wait – not really glaring, but he – there’s this kind of seriousness that Tony cannot really point out and –

“Can you tutor me in Algebra?”

Okay, now Tony’s definitely dreaming.

It’s Barnes who’s gonna offer him blowjobs in return. Maybe if Tony asks, he’ll fuck Tony this time. It’s just, it’s been blowjobs and handjobs in every other dreams and Tony’s so tired of them, he wants to feel – or kinda feel – how it is to be fucked too, and fuck Barnes too. Maybe? But that aura that Barnes gives is like – Tony totally wants to get fucked.

He waits. Then he waits some more. This is the part where Barnes is supposed to suggest that, but Barnes is looking away now, face red and he’s hunching over going back to his sleeping pose, “Forget it,” – wait –

“What?”

“I said forget it.” Barnes’ head is already down, voice muffled and Tony – wait, wait, wait!

“Hold on a sec.” Tony pinches his thigh, hard. “Oh, fuck that hurts.” Barnes head snaps up, concerned eyes find his before they wipe out, clean, back to poker face and he drops his head down again, facing away from Tony.

 _Shit, this is real!_ Tony scolds himself mutely, _Shit!_

And what did – Wow. Barnes wants him to tutor. Like, for real. Wow. Tony can cry how close this is to his stupid raunchy dreams but no, this is not like _that_. This is, Barnes wants his help and Tony can do that.

“I – er – sure. I can,” This time he leans bravely and pokes Barnes on the shoulder. Waits for him to glower at Tony and he says, smiling nervously, “I can tutor you.”

Barnes straightens up, first, looking doubtfully at Tony and when Tony keeps smiling like an awkward buffon, the glower leaves but the frown comes back. Tony faintly thinks that he likes Barnes’ laughing face the best.

“How much.” Barnes asks.

“What?”

“The tutoring cost.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Tony scratches nervously behind his ear, thinking back to that brief moment when he imagined Barnes offering sex as payment and he flushes a brilliant shade of red. “It’s free.”

“Nothing’s free.”

Tony’s attention snaps back to Barnes and this time when he says it, it’s in offended petulance. “It’s free. Take it or leave it.” Partly, because he’s already feeling like such a dickwad for thinking of sex trades – _God, the shame_.

Barnes’ frown deepens. He looks conflicted. “I can’t let you tutor me for free.” He mutters lowly, worrying on his bottom lip.

Tony wants to think uncharacteristic but at this point he doesn’t even know what makes Barnes’ character. This is the longest conversation they’ve had, fine, second longest, but this is the one he’s gotten to see so many emotions shifting through Barnes usual stoic, uncaring face and it’s both fascinating and lo, behold, endearing. Of course Tony finds it endearing. He’s fucking besotted on this guy even before he knows his phone number. Okay, that’s not technically true because Tony can hack for is contact information, but still – point remains. Also, it’s rude to just hack others for personal information. Tony totally doesn’t have Barnes’ phone number; pinky swear.

“I’m not accepting any money.”

Barnes glares at him.

“No.” Tony insists. The bell rings shrilly, saving him from the argument just as Barnes opens his mouth and Tony grins gleefully at him.

-

Something lands on his head, rolling down on top of his opened book; a crumpled piece of paper with bold scrawl saying, _Something other than money?_

Tony pockets it and keeps his eyes on Mr Coulson. It’s thrilling to be passing notes with Barnes but Coulson is not someone Tony wants to be caught by and even his massive crush is not worth that. So he waits until the bell rings to catch up to Barnes.

“What do you have in mind?” He asks, _please don’t say sex_ is blisteringly prominent as _please say sex_ in his head. Barnes looks surprised to see Tony behind him. “What?”

“You said, not money, what do you have in mind since you’re so adamant to pay.” Tony rolls his eyes. Then realises he just rolled his eyes and scrubs his face, trying to hide the sudden flush of blood to his ears. He comes to a stop at his locker, Barnes stops too, leaning casually against the locker next to Tony’s.

“What do you want?” He asks, the bright light along the corridor making his greyish blue eyes seem like oasis.

Tony looks away. “I don’t want anything.”

“You’re difficult.” Barnes chuckles, too briefly for Tony to catch him at it when he turns. Back to poker face, always that damned poker face.

“I can say the same about you.” Tony counters, huffing as he crosses his arms over his chest, challenging. Barnes regards him cooly, head tilted slightly to the left as his eyes look Tony from up to down. Tony tightens his arms around himself. When their gazes meet again, neither of them wants to give, staring each other down. But Tony’s particularly stubborn and Barnes seems to realise that, as he glances around them to see the students already moving to their next class.

“You know how to ride?” He asks distractedly.

Tony chokes on his spit. “Wha-What!?”

Overhead, the bell shrills, jolting them both in surprise. For a brief second Barnes looks confused before amusement takes over and the end of his lips quiver, his eyebrows slant upwards and he’s utterly tickled by Tony who’s now red not only in ears but his entire face and neck and oh god – this is _embarrassing._

“Bike. How about I teach you to ride it?” Barnes asks, pulling away from the locker, walking backwards to his next class. Tony should go too. He has a number of snarky retorts in his mind but they’ve got no time for that so he shrugs, “Yeah, okay.” As he too stumbles a few steps backwards in attempt to mimic Barnes and he gives up, walking the right way, but he still got his eyes on Barnes. Pokes his tongue out at him in a rush of deviousness from his first time being late to class; his palms sweat in anticipation of detention but the thrill of it overrides everything else. Barnes gives him two fingers salute and a wink before turning around and Tony does too, jogging to his next class feeling – well, feeling a lot of things all at once.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV  
> \- a little insight on his life  
> \- also unbeta-ed. I'll

Howard’s back.

All those light bounce to his steps since he finished his first class with Barnes vanishes the moment he spots the Mercedes parked in their garage. Sleek black and intimidating, Tony’s already sweating before he steps out his own car.

Once upon a time, Tony would have given anything to see his father. But that was before his mom died and left his father dark and cruel to exercise his power over their only son; by throwing him on a property in suburb, put him in public school because that’s “Maria’s wish”, not to mention Maria died without seeing Tony turn five at least. While he, Howard, stays away – business, the main mansion, different countries floating on bubbles of alcohol – trusting Jarvis to take care of his only son.

Sure, it’s not like Jarvis is not reliable because frankly, Tony wishes it’s just Jarvis and him, minus his dad from the equation because it’s not like his father tries. If anything, the only thing his father tries is to get away from Tony. He flinches looking at Tony. Tony gets it. He may remind Howard of Maria, he understands; doesn’t know if he was Howard he’ll be able to look Tony in the eyes too, but. It still hurts.

It’s just – Why not all or nothing? Why does he disappears and then suddenly appears pretending to care?

“You’re late, Anthony.”

Like that.

“My apologies, father.”

How does he even know when the school lets out? Does he even know how old Tony is? No. But there he is, legs crossed, sitting on the end of the dining table with his suit intact – clearly he’s not here to stay – pretending like he knows, like he gives a damn.

“Sit.”

Biting back a sigh, Tony pulls a chair – careful to not drag the legs against the linoleum - one seat away from Howard’s immediate and he places his bag next to his feet before he sits.

“How’s school?”

Oh for fuck -, “School’s f- well, father.” Never say fine to Howard. Rule no.302.

“Any troubles?”

“No, father.”

“Hmm,” Howard hums, finally putting down the phone and looking at Tony. It’s an abortive glance, straight in the eyes once, before he keeps his gaze resolutely focused somewhere over Tony’s shoulder. “How is the schematic coming.”

Right. Of course, this is what brought Howard here. Wow, Tony almost wants to laugh for forgetting the main reason Howard even bothers with him; heir, _the only_ heir, business. Someone has to take over the company after him and Howard is one paranoid bastard, so obviously, he has to make sure that Tony is still going to be there to aid his retirement plan. Of course. “Almost done, father. I’ll send it over next Monday.” Fortunately for Howard, Tony actually likes working for SI’s R&D.

“No, no.” Howard stops him. “I’ll collect it myself. It’s too confidential.”

“Oh.” Tony says, already dreading their next meeting. He prefers the long intervals between Howard’s visits. That way, Howard’s happier and Tony’s happy too.

“Before I forget, if Obie tries to get in touch with you, let me know.” Howard’s looking directly at Tony now, his electric blue eyes, unlike Tony’s very brown ones, are piercing. “Do you understand, Anthony?”

Tony shudders then ducks his head in shame. “Yes, father.” Looks like Howard’s not the only one with trouble holding gaze while talking with Tony.

It’s weird that Howards asking to know when Obie gets in touch; firstly, it’s not even like Obie contacts Tony. The only time they talk is when Tony’s attending one of Howards’ business parties or if he’s in SI. Tony likes the guy, he’s the only one after Jarvis who treats Tony like an adult and he’s also quite funny. Tony has nothing against him. But other than that, they never even text. Emails, sure; like once or twice, where Obie asked Tony’s opinion on some SI designs and stuffs, but that was like five months ago. Should Tony tell Howard about that too?

He decides not. Maybe if Obie contacts again, Tony will let Howard know. But surely five months ago is nothing of importance for Howard. Although – well, never mind.

Howard leaves soon after, doesn’t even stay to have lunch with Tony. Not that Tony was expecting him too but – well, Tony should just stop waiting.

-

“Lunch.” Jarvis alerts as he pokes his head in the half opened door. Tony swirls in his chair, a pen in between his teeth and he beams up at him. A tray with sandwich and a glass of orange juice is deposited on the bare minimum space left on his study table and Tony takes the close proximity to butt his head against Jarvis’ side.

“Are you baking?” He asks, because it’s a routine. Howard visits and Jarvis bakes in his leaving. Feeds Tony delicious cookies and cakes, keep his tummy happy even if Howard had just shat all over his heart.

Jarvis hums, “Coffee cakes.”

“Yippe.”

His fingers are long as they tread through Tony’s hair. He’s tall, so there’s that. Tall and lean, half-balding but still unmarried like he’s waiting for sainthood or something. Tony craves for the days when he can tease him but Jarvis never has companies over. Never leaves the house unless on Howard’s order; he’s so… proper. And British. Tony loves him.

“After you finish the sandwich.” He tilts Tony’s chin up, gently, tsking.

Ah, right. Mottled bruise. Of course Tony forgot, and Howard didn’t even mention it – hah. But Jarvis –

“It’s nothing.” Tony turns away from him.

He can hear the disapproval from the way Jarvis breathes. “If you’d only -,”

“I said, no, Jarvis.” Tony glares, and feels so ugly because he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling the Howard’s face – the one which Howard gives Jarvis when he’s ordering him around. Fuck – “No.” He repeats, softer. “Sorry, J.”

Jarvis breathes in and then out and with a curt nod, he’s out. Tony ignores the tray for the most part of the afternoon, focusing on perfecting the schematics. He’ll get this done and then those home-work and maybe he’ll go and help Jarvis with the – forget it, Jarvis probably doesn’t want to see him now. Not as long as he has that stupid bruise on his face and he’s refusing Jarvis from filing an official complain.

He thinks, if he’s lucky he’ll get a coffee cake tomorrow, but that evening when he comes out from the bathroom, there’s a plate of them next to the untouched sandwich. And a small tube of ointment. Okay, Jarvis is still mad, but hey, at least it’s not like when he saw Tony’s face yesterday.

_“Anthony. What on earth?”_

_Tony winced. Jarvis only aborts the Master in front of his name when he’s livid. Dammit, Tony was counting on avoiding him for the whole day but of course, Jarvis had to be too caring to at least see him once before bed time._

_“I fell.”_

_Jarvis’ jaw clenched and relaxed. He’s in his pyjamas, with his late night mug of tea he takes into his room for late night reading before he sleeps. He even had his fluffy bunny slippers on – the one that Tony loves to make fun off. On a different account, Tony would have teased him, but at that moment his palms moistened with sweat and he’s rigid on his chair with his back to his study table._

_Jarvis’ fingers curl around his jaw and Tony flinched expecting them to be harsh from the way Jarvis looked so damned angry, but they’re careful and very gentle as he turned Tony’s face to one side and another. He heard the harsh exhale leaving Jarvis’ chest as he straightened up. “I’m coming to school tomorrow.”_

_“No!” Tony half shouted, feeling blood draining out of his face in rapid speed, “I fell! Why – ,Why would you – It’s not necessary.” He argued rolling away from Jarvis when he tried to reach again._

_Something crossed Jarvis face and for the first time in his life, Tony heard Jarvis yell. “Do not lie to me, Anthony. You have been assaulted and I will not sit down and watch while you lick your wounds in silence.”_

_“I have not – I fell! I swear! -,”_

_“I did not raise you up to be a liar, young man!”_

_“I am not – It’s none of your business.” Tony balks._

_“How dare you! I am your immediate guardian, you are my resp-,”_

_But Tony never let him finish that sentence. “You are not my father!” He spat, something vile and ugly uncurling within him. He’d heard the guardian and responsibility gig pulled on him so many times, maybe not by Jarvis but by Howard certainly and he’s tired of it._

_He doesn’t want to be a burden – because that’s how it feels when they refer to him as a responsibility. Unwanted, thrust upon them against their wish. Howard doesn’t want him so he hired someone else to take care of him – Jarvis. Tony has nothing against Jarvis, but he can’t help but be reminded that he’s just a pass-over every time he sees the man. And god, he’d grown out of that – over time, he’d learnt to see Jarvis loves him for real and he loves Jarvis too, but the dirt had stuck somewhere solid inside and he’d thought he had scraped it out but he really hasn’t has he._

_Jarvis’ mouth had snapped shut. Silence reigned down on them, oppressing in nature and Tony couldn’t help but feel guilt weigh on him. He opened his mouth to apologize, bare foot scuffing the floor and his vision blur as he stares at that. But he couldn’t quite get it out._

_“No, I’m not.” Jarvis had said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you like one.”_

_“J,” Tony had whined, tears streaming down full force then and the sigh that had escaped Jarvis then was as good a forgiveness Tony could get. He’d wrapped Tony in his arms, wiped away his tears, ushered him to the kitchen so Tony could sip hot cocoa while Jarvis fussed over his bruised jaw._

_Tony went to bed less unhappy and glad that Jarvis hadn’t felt anywhere below his chest. His taped ribs could be a secret just between Barnes and him. For the best._

All had been well and forgotten when he got up this morning, but he'd just gone a mucked it up all over with that Howard stint, hadn't he.

-

Earlier, before Tony left school, he’d exchanged phone numbers with Barnes. Now as he lies, with only his phone’s light shining down on his face, he contemplates on sending a text to Barnes; been contemplating for half an hour now and it feels pathetic, so, he presses the send button, winces and stares at what he’d composed:

_Hey, tomorrow after school works for you?_

36 seconds after, it’s read.

Two minutes and 49 seconds after, his phone vibrates:

_Sure_

Tony waits. Then he rolls to his side, tucks his phone under his pillow, closes his eyes, feels like a weirdo for feeling indignant and he waits until sleep takes over.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of his phone alarm blaring and as soon as his brain switches on, he’s checking his phone for new messages, scrubbing his face and groaning when he finds none and feels embarrassed and disappointment join that remaining smear of indignation from last night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV  
> \- teeny tiny time jumps here and there  
> \- advanced apologies because i am not at all familiar with american high school and i don't quite remember my own high school life so i'm gonna be extra vague about schooling in general here and if you think it doesn't fit the american hs system, can we just pretent it's some other universe's hs. sorry again.

He doesn’t see Barnes until the final bell rings, they don’t share a single class today, but Barnes is waiting for him near his car, straddling his bike with his helmet off. Tony cannot deny that his heart skips a beat at the sight. He almost wasn’t expecting to see Barnes, convinced himself that it had all just been another weird dream sequence he'd made up. But that text was still there every time he checked; his multi-worded question and Barnes' stupid one worded reply. The often he looked at it, the more his blood boiled; whether from shame, for having been dismissed like that by his crush or from anger, for the same reason; he cannot really decide.

As of now, he squares his shoulders and marches up to Barnes as if he’s entering a battlefield.

“Hey.” Barnes greets him, tossing something at him the moment he sees Tony and Tony almost trips over himself trying to catch the bloody –

Candy? Seriously.

He squints at Barnes suspiciously. Barnes shrugs. “I hope you like lemon.” Is all he says.

Tony unwraps the sweet and chucks it into his mouth, feeling the tangy sweetness of the citrus flavour burst on his tongue. He does like anything citrus.

“Hey – er, can we go to your place? Mine is kinda… occupied now.” Barnes scratches the back of his neck. God, even when he’s less fluent he’s still hot. His hair is fucking glimmering under the sunlight, it’s almost unfair how perfect he is. Like God created him just to put all other beings to shame.

“ _Sure_.” Tony shrugs, masking all of his gooey melted pining self inside, just to let Barnes taste his own medicine. But the way Barnes smiles shows just how his petty revenge for that one worded reply flew completely over his head and Tony sighs, giving up. There’s no point holding grudges in life. No point at all. Especially when you can’t even keep being mad at the person because stupid beautiful, nice, kind, hearted person who does excellent job at taping your ribs.

-

Jarvis is not home. Usually he lets Tony know when he won’t be home, but they never talked this morning and there’s a note on Tony’s door saying something about a shepherd pie in the fridge and he’ll be home by eight so Tony’s less worried about his where about but not so less about the silent treatment he’s getting.

Barnes follows him quietly, turns out he does have a back stored in his locker and he does have pencils, pens, notebooks and all that menial stuffs students carry all the time. Tony drags a chair from Howard’s unused study, has a brief moment where he thinks they should have just used that rotting study instead, but too late. Barnes is waiting in his room, standing by the door, right where Tony had left him, keeping all of his limbs to himself.

“Cool room.” He says, swatting Tony’s hand as he helps drag the chair rest of the way to the table. Tony takes a look around his own room; his bed is queen sized, head of it pushed up the wall, he has two study tables; one square one, immediately to the left of his bed, which he uses to do his school works and another longer, wider pushed up against the window at the other end of the room – it’s where he does his schematic drawings and other stuffs and the bright light from the outside is a great feature. The solar system decorates the ceiling in the palest shade of grey, when the lights are offed in the night, they’re subtle white glimmer that Tony likes to trace until sleep claims him.

He points at the more barren homework table when Barnes looks up for direction. “Thanks,” He says dubiously. He’s never been into someone else’s room; doesn’t have friends to do all that. The only other teenager's room he’d visited is his cousin Pepper’s and she’s seventeen, but she claims to be an adult. Her room is just as big and neat but there are more pink fluffs there compared to Tony’s. Tony’s more barren, except for his schematic - work table; it’s chaotic there. It’s his favourite corner in his room. That and the ceiling; otherwise he spends most of his time in his make shift workshop attached to the garage. That’s where he really feels at home. But nobody’s allowed in there, even Jarvis only pops his head in and Tony has no plans to change that anytime soon.

Barnes waits until Tony tells him to sit and then only he drops his bag on the floor and plops himself on one of the chairs. Tony takes the one near his bed. “So, Algebra…,” He drawls.

Barnes clucks his tongue. “Not so much in here.” He taps at his head.

Tony scowls at him. “It’s really less about brain and more about practice.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s a fact.” Tony taps the pan against the table. “Books and pens.” He wiggles his fingers.

Barnes snorts but he pulls them out anytime. “Sir, yes sir.” He mumbles under his breath.

Tony pulls out his own textbook. “Where do you get stuck?” He asks, thumbing the pages but not turning. Barnes squints at it. Tony pushes the book towards him, “Wanna show?”

-

Tony had never tutored anyone before but he’s pretty sure, it isn’t supposed to be this easy. Barnes has problems alright, but they’re of advanced level problems and there’s also the fact that he catches up pretty quickly. The worst one only needed five repeats from Tony and that too was something that even Tony had trouble understanding once. So much for saying that he’s not as smart. Tony’s actually impressed. _Very_ impressed.

Oh… this is so not helping him get over the crush at all.

“I thought you said there’s nothing much here.” He pokes at Barnes’s temple with a pen one afternoon, it’s their third week into tutoring and Barnes still comes over to Tony’s place, not that Tony has any complaints. They’re doing Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, because Barnes works afternoons on the Tuesdays and Thursdays but late evenings on the rest of them. Barnes has gotten more relaxed, easily slumping down the chair which he hasn’t done during the first two days. Tony’s been warming up to him too, and it’s incredibly easy with Barnes being so patient when Tony’s stammering, honest when he doesn’t understand what Tony’s talking about and just the general effortless vibe that Barnes gives off is calming enough for Tony to stop – _it’s okay, he doesn’t know you’re admiring his jawline_ – revaluate, think and restart.

It’s also Barnes who initiated the contacts, it’s as if he doesn’t even know he’s leaning far into Tony’s space or his hand or his foot is resting somewhere on Tony’s chair. He doesn’t touch him, no skin to skin, but some level of close contact is there; mostly they’re poking at each other with their pens for now.

Barnes swats at the pen. “There really isn’t.” He grumbles, scratching an equation off and starting anew. There’s a frown on his face, a much more welcomed feature compared to his stupid poker face he puts on for the rest of the world. Tony likes to congratulate himself every time he catches Barnes wearing emotions freely around him. It feels worth it, especially when the rest of the world doesn’t get to see it. Largely because those instances only occur while they’re at Tony’s place, because Tony and Barnes don’t share most of their classes and cumulatively, they don’t spend much time together in public. Because there’s no need for that. Not because Barnes is avoiding Tony in public. Because that’s just stupid and so not Barnes like – anyway.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Barnes,” Tony says, sing song like, drawing a long line through a circle on his work table. He’s gotten feedbacks from Howard for the schematic he submitted; some new measures and calculations and Howard gave him a week to finish it, so he’s multi-tasking; tutoring Barnes and working on the new schematic. As long as Howard doesn’t walk in and catch him revising confidential works in front of someone else, Tony’s good.

“It’s James.” Barnes kicks lightly at his hip.

Tony’s bent over, so the unexpected contact makes him straighten up and he forces his blood to go somewhere else but his face still warms up. He rubs his nose and sniffs. “Don’t sell yourself short, James.”

Barnes – James smirks, looking up at Tony with the end of his pen in between his teeth. Tony tries not get too lost thinking just how hot he looks. “Not if you're buying, Mr Stark.” He winks, and Jesus – _Fuck_.

That’s just – God. Just what is Barnes doing that for? Holy shit, that sends jolts straight down to Tony’s dick. Fuck.

“It’s Tony.” He rasps, feeling his face definitely hot now, probably the brightest shade of red. God, is Ba- _James_ flirting with him?

He shrugs. “Kay, Tony,” and goes back to work just like that. Leaving Tony’s heart thundering in his chest and he wills himself to calm down, for his dick to fucking calm the fuck down.

-

The first time Jarvis met James, he had just been getting ready to leave; worming his arms into his jacket sleeve as Tony puttered in the bathroom, trying to get the ink smear from his finger. When Jarvis pushed the door open, he saw James and immediately froze in the doorway and in that instance, Tony exited, shirt off because he’d gone and accidently sprayed himself with the tap water neck down. His pants were wet too, a large patch of dampness over his groin. Jarvis saw that and another boy shrugging into his clothes and he put two and two together, nodded curtly and haphazardly excused himself, apologizing.

Jarvis had thought Tony was rebelling, not talking to him and doing unspeakable things in his room. Tony had had the longest night explaining himself over dinner to Jarvis’ unimpressed face. Then he’d brought James and officially introduced him to Jarvis in the kitchen the first thing before their next session. James had been all proper and ridiculously charming and Jarvis had approved him so easily, throwing a knowing smirk over his shoulder at Tony’s flustered face. “J!” Tony had whined. James and Jarvis had regarded him with an eerily same amused face. Since then, James always stayed a little while over after the tutoring session to chatter with Jarvis.

That was a month ago, today, they walk in on Jarvis buttering a cookie tray. “You’re baking!” Tony exclaims skipping joyfully to check the mixing bowl.

“Is that lemon, Mr J?” James sniffs, plopping his bag and jacket on the stool as he grins up at Jarvis.

“I thought Mr B can help review my new lemon bar recipe.” Jarvis answers them both, taking the mixing bowl away from Tony. Tony fills two glasses of water, thrusts one towards James and holds one for himself, sipping as he sits on a free stool.

Jarvis smoothes the batter and asks, “Have you baked before, Mr B?” Tony swallows the urge to laugh at the name, he'd laughed enough the first time Jarvis decided to call James, Mr B, because James keeps referring to him as Mr J and had refused to stop.

“Helped.” James answers, watching Jarvis put the tray into the oven and gets to cleaning. He reaches to help but Jarvis stops him; “No sir, this is all mine,” and Tony grins when James quirks an eyebrow at him. “J’s a control freak like that.”

“My mom used to bake.” James confides when Jarvis asks whom he helped. Tony perks up because this is the first time James has shared anything about himself.

“What were you favourites?”

“Chocolate cupcake and quiche. She liked butter cakes.” There’s a rueful smile on his face as he tips the glass to drink. Tony looks away from him to Jarvis and they share a look.

“Tony here likes everything that’s edible on earth.” Jarvis sighs in mock exasperation.

“Hey!” Tony balks. James almost chokes on a mouthful water before he swallows and laughs as Tony turns red and glares at both Jarvis and him.

“I’m a growing boy.” He defends himself somewhat weakly, and James pats him on his head. “Sure you are, pal.” Tony wrinkles his nose at the nickname.

The next day, Tony gives a Tupperware of lemon bars to James before their first class begins. “Thanks,” James smiles, taking one, closing the container and handing it back to Tony. Tony shakes his head, pushing it back to him because it’s James’. Jarvis packed him some because he had to leave before the bars were done; something about his work that he mumbled urgently, bidding them both hasty goodbyes combined with a frail smile. Tony tells him so.

James nibbles on the bar thoughtfully, the bell rings, the class begins, the class ends, a new class begins and ends and another and soon, it’s lunchtime. Tony goes to his locker to chuck some books and takes the ones for the coming lessons before leaving to the library where he spends all his lunches at. Except, when he slams his locker shut, there’s James standing in front of him and he tips his head, wordlessly asking him to follow and Tony tags along, finally asking him where they’re heading to once they’re out of the school building.

“I don’t wanna leave the compound.” Tony tells him when he sees them nearing the gate.

“We’re not, stickler.” James snorts, grabbing Tony’s wrist and taking an abrupt turn to the right. Tony’s ear whooshes with the sound of blood pumping through his veins and the back of neck prickles – he’d improved from turning red full face to just the ears these days. He stares at James fingers wrapped around his wrist and keeps staring, shuddering when he registers the warmth of his skin on his own. James coughs. Belatedly, Tony realises that they’re standing beneath the old oak tree in their school compound where nobody goes to because it’s short and ugly and too hidden to look like it’s safe to hang around. Tony eyes it suspiciously, then at James.

James rolls his eyes, unhooking the bag’s straps from Tony’s shoulder and propping it against the tree’s bark. He sits next to it and pats the patch of grass beside him. “Are we even allowed here?” Tony asks as he walks to him. “Shh.” James hushes. “Don’t ruin the fun.” Then he pulls out the Tupperware with lemon bars from god knows where and a bag of peanut and jelly sandwich. He picks a half and offers it to Tony. Tony blinks, then he looks at Barnes and blinks some more. “I’ll tell Mr J you don’t eat during lunch if you don’t accept it.” He threatens.

Tony throws his head back and groans. Damn it. Of course. “Did Jarvis put you up to this?” He demands angrily, because Tony doesn’t need pity alright. He’s fine without friends. He’s completely and totally fucking fine.

“No.” James rolls his eyes. “I’m putting myself up to this. Now, eat before the bell rings. C’mon, quick.” He thrusts the triangular bread at Tony’s face, peanut butter smearing over his nose and Tony makes a face at him, grabbing onto the sandwich and taking a bite when James narrow his eyes at him.

After that, they begin to spend every other lunch together.

-

One Friday, Tony asks James if they can go back to his place instead. “It’s just – Howard’s at home.” James' frown smoothes out, he knows about Howard; not too much but just enough to know that Tony has a strained relationship with his father. “Sure,” James shrugs, and he seems uneasy when he smiles, but they go to his place regardless.

It’s the only other teenage boy’s room Tony’s been to other that his own. It’s small. The apartment is the size of his bedroom and James’ room is the size of Tony’s walk-in closet. But James is neat, both the apartment and the room are very clean. Tony knows James lives with his father, his mother having passed away but that wasn’t a fact James had told him but Tony found out from the student’s information file way back when he thought any kind of interaction with James was never going to happen.

Now, sitting on the rickety chair James had dragged for him from the kitchen, he feels like such a creep. So he doesn’t ask him about it at all. Doesn’t ask who James is living with or how many siblings he has - and Tony knows he has none - or anything, simply sipping on the watery orange juice James had poured for him from a carton in the refrigerator. “Sorry, it’s… not much.” James says, returning with his jacket gone, threadbare shirt and ripped jeans changed to soft cotton shirt and a oair of sweatpants that’s sliding down his hips. Tony inhales the juice and splutters.

“You alright?” James rubs his hunched over back and Tony bats him off, “I’m fi- fine. _Fine_.”

_Totally not fine. What the hell? How can one look so hot in their home wear!? And bare feet! Why didn't anybody say anything about bare feet before?_

James flicks at his ear and plops on the chair next to him. “If you want lunch, you have to settle with jelly only sandwich. We ran out of peanut butter this morning.” He informs, pulling out his book and pens.

“I don’t mind.” Tony says, gnawing on his own pen as he pulls out his own homework.

Somewhere between the two months, it had become less of Tony tutoring James and more just, studying together with Tony giving pointers here and there when James needs them. Somewhere between James bonding with Jarvis and spending lunch together, they’ve become friends and friendly pen-poking has progressed to finger-poking and flicking and some hair ruffling on James part while Tony tries hard not to blush.

But all the while, the crush he’d had on James since eons ago has only stapled itself stronger and more permanent instead of washing away under the growing waves of familiarity. The more he spends time with James, the more fond he feels for him, and how unfortunate is that because all those rom-coms Tony had spent last summer watching with Pepper only pointed out that it’s supposed to be the opposite. Don’t people divorce because of overfamiliarity? Okay, fine. Maybe it’s not so much over as much as it’s just familiar because there are tons of things Tony still doesn't know about James but still – Tony had seen James drooling on his work, he’s supposed to be disgusted not get more besotted by him.

They finish their homework, James makes them two jelly sandwiches each. Tony steeps tea in two mugs for them. James doesn’t work today so they go back to his room and watch YouTube videos on medical mechanics while they eat their late lunch.

“What’s your ambition?” Tony asks, chasing the last of his sandwich with warm tea. James’ still not done with his, munching as he hums and he waits until the sandwich is finished, which by the time, the video ends and he shrugs, still staring at the laptop screen.

“Medical?” Tony prompts him. James’s mouth pulls into a bitter smile and he shrugs again. “What’s yours?” He asks Tony, and, Tony doesn’t want to tell him, because James didn’t tell him; always so mysterious. He hates that. He'd just watched James hide his bike in an abandoned shed, asked Tony to park two buildings further than where he actually lives and Tony has so many questions for him since he walked into James apartment. There are so many things he doesn't know about James even if he knows James prefers window seats, likes pineapple on his pizza, wears mismatching socks hidden behind studded boots and intimidating leather pants. So many. And now that he can safely call James his friend, he wants to get to know more of him, all about him if he can. Because every time Tony feels like he knows James, he asks himself where James lives, if something happens to James, will Tony ever know or worse, if something happens to James, does he know whom to call - and Tony comes to the awful realisation that he really doesn't know James. Not as much as he thinks or wants to. 

“Tell me yours.” He prods, kicking James’s shin with his socked foot. James huffs. “Fine. Medical.” He answers offhandedly.

Tony squints at him. “Specify.” He says. James turns to look at him, one eyebrow up, impressed _and_ amused. “Didn’t know you can be demanding, Einstein.”

Tony pokes his tongue at him, wiggling his toes under James’s thigh as he sits sideways on his chair, facing James instead of the laptop. “Tellllll.” He whines.

James hand goes around his ankle thoughtlessly and he starts massaging just behind his tendon. “My mom was a nurse. I grew up wanting to be a doctor.” He shares, eyes trained around his fingers pressing into Tony’s skin. Tony bites back a curse at himself. He didn’t think the topic would take a curve ball, more specifically, this particular curve ball. He only wanted to know about the ambition, looks like he dug a hole instead. He keeps his mouth shut and waits for James to continue, but James glances up at him quickly, a brief smile donning his flushed cheeks and he looks distinctly different from his hot, bad boy persona, so adorable, that Tony aches to wrap him in blankets and hug him till next year.

“So,” Tony clears his throat. “A doctor then.”

“Maybe,” James shrugs – or tries to but fails because it’s at that moment that something that sounds like the front door slams open and both James and Tony jolts in surprise. James’ bright eyes widen in horror and seeing that terror makes Tony fear for his own life.

“Ja-,” Tony begins. But James presses his fingers to Tony’s mouth and whispers, “Whatever happens, just stay here. Don’t make a sound. I’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello to new readers. thank you for reading and for those who left kudos here's a <3 and for those who left a comment, here's two <3 <3 and for those who left both, here's my first born - nah, just kidding. have three hearts you precious; <3 <3 <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hands on disciplining is one fine line away from being abusive, if you're a concerned member of society/neighbour, if you see bruises on a child or handprints and it doesn't sit right with you, call the child service department wherever you are, please, and thank you.

Tony’s panicking. His ears are ringing and there’s a muted conversation going on outside and he knows he should listen in case he has to call the police and play witness, but the more he tries to listen, the more the words go over his head; all jumbled up and tripping over one another into white noise as soon as he hears them because his stupid brain is shutting down during the most convenient time ever.

He wants to slap himself but James had said no noise, so he sits incredibly still on his chair, listening to muffled cacophony of arguments, hissed voices, a slurred yell of something followed by a loud thud that makes Tony flinch and curl into himself. He tries to think about all the movies he’d watched, those moves James pulled on Caleb’s gang. In case someone barges in and tries to attack him next, he tries to plan his defence steps.

What will he do? Should he go bite the person’s hand? Kick him in the nut if it’s a he but if it’s a she, then? What does he do? What does he do? Scream? Scream is helpful right? Alert the neighbours and they can call the police. But shouldn’t he be doing that now, if James is in danger, shouldn’t Tony be utilizing this precious few minutes when he’s safely hidden to make a call? Also, on how earth is he hidden – just sitting right there like a statue waiting for ambush? He should probably hide better – god, James doesn’t even have an adjoined bathroom, or a cupboard. There’s an old looking drawer set and the bed – oh! Under the bed! Tony should probably – but what if he makes a noise when he moves and all these while the bad guy doesn’t know Tony’s here yet but he alerts them by making the noise and oh god, why is this happening to him. Is James even okay? Did they kill him? What was that sound? Should Tony go out and check on it? Shouldn’t this be the first thing he thought of?

_Oh god, oh god, oh god –_

There’s a sound of feet padding against the floorboard, creaking, closing in and – Tony holds his breath, clutches the phone inside his hoodie pocket. The door knob twists and the door cracks open. His lungs are starting to ache but he’s afraid to breathe. What if he makes a sound – Shi –

It’s James.

Tony takes a deep breath in, eyes closing in pure relief. Jesus H Christ. It’s James, just James – “Oh, thank god.”

He tries to glower at James for putting him in such position. But James looks like he’d just dunked his head in the sink and is half way through wiping at the evident. There’s a towel pressed against his right cheek and he signals with his left hand for Tony to keep quiet.

Tony swallows, and he watches as James tilts his head towards the door – there’s no sound coming from there anymore – feeling as confused as hell.

He tries to catch James eyes several times but James simply holds a hand up and curls each fingers down then uncurls all and curls each one down again before he unpeels his back from the door. He comes to the table, but doesn’t sit, opting to stand, one hip pressed against the sharp corner of the table.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly.

“What was that?” Tony hisses, unable to keep himself from glaring at him. James ducks his head. For a moment, he simply breathes, opening his mouth a few times but expelling nothing but air. Then he shakes his head, Tony tugs on the hem of his damp shirt until his knees knocks against the chair and James plops down heavily, towel still pressed firmly against one side of his face. Tony eyes it warily.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, the same time James says, “That was my dad.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath. That changes everything – He well. Woah. “I thought -,” He starts, but swallows his next words forcefully. He thought, well, he thought that was a burglar, some kind of an assailant. The sheer tension and violence – Jesus –

“Are – Are you okay?” Tony asks instead. Eyes flitting to the towel again and he tries to school his expression into blankness but the way James looks at him tells him that he’s not quite successful at it. Tony heaves a sigh and scrubs his face. He knows this is not – That, this is too personal. Hell, this is James’ family stuff, and James is already too private to begin with. Tony doesn’t want to pry, especially during times like this. But he cannot help it – “Are you hurt?” He asks, gritting his teeth. He knows he’s probably overstepping his boundary or something but fuck, if James expects him to be alright with not knowing – of – if James thinks Tony’s going to leave him injured – well, he has another thing coming.

But then, James lets the towel drop and Tony’s trying not to flinch or wince visibly. He clenches his jaw, tries to relax but he cannot. His hands are fisting; one on the chair and another around his phone in his pants’ pocket. He counts his breath, making sure he times the inhales and exhales so he doesn’t start freaking – well, he’s already freaking out, but at least, he can try to not show he is.

Wordlessly, he retrieves his school bag, unzips the hidden compartment and pulls out the small first aid kid he’d started carrying after the second time they split his lip. He feels James eyes tracking his every movement and Tony carries on with careful calmness. He’ll have all the time to freak out once he’s alone and back in his room. For now, he’s going to… take care of James. Like James did for him; taped his ribs and what not. He can do that. Tony can do that. James is his friend. Tony can stay calm for him. Help him - Yeah.

“Can I?” He asks, reaching for James’ face, careful to keep his voice quiet. James’ eyes are intense on him, they’re a little glassy, and Tony meets them directly, refusing to let him doubt his intent for even a single second. James swallows audibly and tilts his head to the left for answer. Tony takes a deep inhale.

He starts with disinfecting tissues; pats one over the reddened cheek bone. It’s clean, James’ had washed it clean, clearly, and already starting to turn an ugly shade of purple. He feels James’ jaw clench under his fingers and he pauses, then decides that it’s better to just get everything over with quickly so he moves, using the same ply to wipe down his ear and press beneath the lobe where it’s bleeding. He pinches, putting some pressure, counts to ten silently and then he lets go; it’s a tear, fortunately, just a small one. No need for stitches. The cheekbone looks like the worst, the sweeling is not spreading, James’ under eye is not blackened so no cracked skull or something severe, but god, that must hurt nonetheless.

Tony keeps the tissue pressed over the tear, takes another ply and dabs over the bruise, careful to be gentle. There’s nothing he can do for that except to let it recede by itself. He swallows and discards the second ply, pulling out the third, releasing the pinch he has under the earlobe. Blood oozes as soon as he lets go, it makes Tony a little anxious, he clamps the third, clean ply around it, “It keeps bleeding.” He comments aloud because the silence is too uncomfortable by the seconds.

“Capillaries.” James rasps lowly. Tony shudders, keeping his fingers still under James ear, squirming a little in embarrassment at his reaction. But James keeps talking like he hadn’t notice. “There are a lot of them in our face. But ears have more, which is why they redden the most when we blush. And cheeks,”

“Which explains the non-stop bleeding.” Tony nods numbly.

“Yeah.” James sighs. Then again, “Sorry,” wincing as he tries to turn, but Tony digs his fingertips warningly at the base of his jaw. “Keep still.” He says.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Frowning, Tony eases the pinch again and sighs in relief when he sees that the bleeding has stopped. He grabs a band aid, is contemplating how he’s going to stick something so big to something so small and it’s a horizontal tear, he doesn’t want to end up taping James’ ear to his skull, when James pulls the band aid out of his hand. “You can just leave it. It’ll heal.”

“But -,”

“It’s close enough for the skin to stitch itself together.”

Tony gnaws on his lower lip, staring at the ear as if to will it to heal as he watches. “Trust me.” James says. Tony can hear the smile in his voice, doesn’t know how, but he can.

He looks up into James eyes and suddenly, he realises just how close they are. A little tilt forward and the tip of his nose will brush against James’ cheek. His eyes are glowing storm at this distance, a little dark even in the brightly lit room and Tony holds his breath because something tells him that if he exhales, James will feel it on his skin. His gaze dips down to James mouth and he jolts back in a hurry.

An apology is ready on his tongue, but he forgoes it for, “Okay, Doctor Barnes.” James lips quiver before a small smile breaks out and he ducks his head abashedly, cheeks flushing prettily, before he looks up again, this time from beneath his lashes. Tony’s heart hammers in his chest. He can tease James – oh, can he tease the hell out of James for blushing but hell – instead, he has this insane urge to touch it – already reaching and - he sees James’ hand going for the torn earlobe and Tony grabs that hand instead. “Nope. No touching.”

“Okay, Nurse Stark.”

Tony makes a face. “I don’t know if I like that.”

James laughs, breathy and short – relieved. Then it’s just Tony, in his own thoughts because James looks too far gone in his own thoughts while Tony feels his brain skittering from one distraction to another. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sun’s setting. The sky is blood orange outside. He’s afraid to step outside of the bedroom. He doesn’t want to leave James alone in danger, but at the same time, he’s terrified too. All those shock he’d repressed earlier are carefully bottled up, but the lid is yearning to burst soon – he doesn’t know if it can hold until tomorrow. He wants to go home. He wants to hug Jarvis - hopefully not cry - kiss his cheek and he wants to go into his room, shut the bathroom, turn on the shower, turn the heat to boiling hot, turn the pressure to pounding high and he wants to curl into himself and think about what he’d just been through. He wants to cry.

Instead, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts to compose a text for Jarvis when he remembers that Howard’s in town – Fuck.

Howard’s in town.

“Shit.” He cusses, feeling a terrible sinking feeling wind him down. When he looks up again, James’ eyes are wide on him; curious, but cautious. Tony tries for a smile, “I’ve got to go.”

He watches as realisation dawns upon James, and he gives a curt nod, like he understands but Tony sees the obvious misunderstanding. “Howard’s home.” He reminds James gently, sees him relax and feels something ease inside him with it.

James sneaks him out of the apartment – the closed door of the second bedroom telling his father is probably in there, so it’s easier than Tony anticipated. No running into violent fathers. Easier to breathe once they exited the building and more relaxed, the closer he approaches his car.

“I’m sorry.” James says for the umpteenth time that night. Tony looks him over, throws his caution into the wind, tip toes and kisses James on his unhurt cheek. “It’s okay. I understand.” He tells him.

The drive back home is barely memorable – one moment, James’ watching him drive away and another, Jarvis is waiting for him to park. “Is Howard mad?” Tony asks him.

“I told Mr Stark that you had an extracurricular activity at school.” Jarvis kisses the top of his head before ushering him inside. “You look fairly rattled Master Anthony, I suggest a quick stop at the loo before you see your father.”

Tony thinks, as he splashes his pale face with water, that this is not it. That when he meets James tomorrow, he is going to ask him everything he needs to know, because James has one surviving guardian who is utterly negligible towards him, unforgivingly abusive and that is not fair. Tony, at least, has Jarvis. But who does James have? Tony doesn’t know. He hopes James has someone and he knows that he won’t be able to rest for sure until he knows that for sure.

-

James attends school the next day. The bruise over his right cheekbone is an ugly shade of purple, the tear of his earlobe is not so visible. Tony doesn’t realise he was stricken with worries until he sees him during lunch and he distinctly feels the tension bleed out of him. “Hey.” James taps his shoulder, appearing on the other side. He behaves like nothing is wrong, as if last night didn’t even happen and if it isn’t for the bruising reminder, Tony would have doubted his own memory.

“Enjoying all the attention?” Tony asks him, watching another gaggle of girls giggle past them, sneaking heart eyes at James.

James snorts, taking Tony’s bag from him. Tony follows him to their lunch spot; a spot under the staircase now that the air is getting too cold to sit outside under the tree. “Nothing new.”

“The bruise is selling for you.” Tony rolls his eyes at him. “Your whole mysterious bad boy look.” He mumbles under his breath, but James still hears him.

“Works for you?” James asks casually, placing the bag on the floor and plopping down beside it. Tony sits next to him and watches as James pulls out their lunch from his bag – Jarvis insists on packing lunches for both of them these days. James had initially refused, but Jarvis has a way to get what he wants so now James gets hams and chicken between his breads instead of just jelly and the occasional peanut butter.

He accepts his own bag and asks, “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” James shrugs abortively. Tony frowns. James takes his first bite, munches on it hungrily – ravenous. Tony waits. Once James' half way through, his jaw slowing down in their job, Tony gulps and tries again. “Wanna talk about it?”

James swallows and glances at him once before taking another big bite. This time though, it looks like he’s trying to avoid the topic. “Nothn’ ta tak abo -,” He shrugs around a mouthful.

Tony sighs and opens his own lunch bag, but he doesn’t make any moves to retrieve the sandwich. He worries his lower lip, keeping his gaze fixed on the breads and frills of lettuce peeking out in between them. “I’m an only child.” He begins. “Howard is my biological father but Jarvis plays the part better. Mother passed away when I was four, cancer.”

He hears more than sees James stop everything to listen to him. Tony looks up at him and smiles, “If anything happens to me, you call Jarvis and he’ll call Howard. If anyone asks who you are, you tell them that you’re my friend. My only friend.”

James puts his unfinished sandwich into the bag. His eyes are cloudy grey today as they study Tony carefully. He swallows and he swallows again. Then he takes Tony’s free hand and says, “You’re my only friend too.” His breath hitches and he looks away before turning back to Tony. “Ma died when I was 15, complicated pregnancy. She was in her third semester,” He pauses to inhale and Tony squeezes his hand. “I think if anything happens to me, you should call my dad, but he’s the last person I want – I,” He shakes his head, before he chuckles darkly, squeezing back Tony's hand in his and says. “He’s a drunk bastard and if you’re lucky, you’ll find him at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo things got a little longish and i'm predicting the end will be at chapter 12 now instead of 10. sorrryyyy


	8. Chapter 8

James becomes more… open after. Which Tony finds to be very refreshing and extremely endearing.

Yes, endearing. Not hot or sexy, because well, hah. Tony can laugh but usually it just leaves a big fat grin on his face every time he thinks about it.

James is apparently a very touchy feely guy. He has his hands on Tony in one way or another (not like that, Jesus, although Tony would really like – okay, moving on); he either slings an arm over Tony’s shoulder, plays with Tony’s ear, ankle or hair – whichever that’s closer – while he studies also, he apparently loves hugging

And he gives such wonderful, long stretched, the completely melt you into a gooey goo kind of hugs that even beats Jarvis’, which Tony’s very fond of F.Y.I.

It’s hard to resist him, not like Tony wants to, because given a choice Tony would like to climb inside James and live there forever thank you very much. But since that’s not happening he stays with returning all of James’ affection as similarly. Although most of the time, Tony always reverts to playing with James hair in the end, regardless how he begins, and James seems to like it – well, he makes this small satisfied sighs – so Tony sticks to it.

They cuddle too. Again, it was all James’ fault. He was the one who one day, physically carried Tony to his bed so he could show him some YouTube video he found, which later Tony forgot everything about because holy heaven, so, that’s how it feels like to lie in James’ arms. Oh yeah, there’s that fact where James just pops in whenever he likes now – doesn’t have to be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays only anymore.

It started because one day, Tony was down with flu and couldn’t make it to school and suddenly, Jarvis was knocking on the door with James grinning around a mouthful of food. He plopped on Tony’s bed without an invite no matter how much Tony kicked him off because infectious virus and stuff and he’d proceeded to play with his phone. No longer after, Tony’s phone beeped and it was a list of homework which instantly made him groan and then he realised how James would have gone around hunting someone from every class Tony had today to find out and then he realised some more that to do that, James would need to know Tony’s schedule for the day and those thoughts made his blood well up to his cheeks. Begrudgingly, he’d rasped out a thank you and let James splay next to him on top of the cover and marathon Brooklyn99 while Jarvis brought soup and more sandwiches.

Maybe it opened up a possibility, the assurance that even without studying and only hanging out during lunch, they can still have just as much fun with each other, which may have been what percussed Tony into texting James one Thursday evening parked two buildings away from James’ apartment. His excuse was, ‘ _Jarvis made too much lasagne and cookies’_ which was stupendously weak but Tony tried, okay. Hi, hello, Tony tried – you’re welcome. Point was, James asked him where he was and when Tony let him know that he wouldn’t mind coming over, James said, _‘Sure, lemme know when you’re here’_ which took five minutes to ping his phone but it did and Tony pretended that he was listening to Coldplay for ten more minutes before walking to the building and texting James again. When James gave the green light, he nervously bounded up the mouldy smelling stairs and to see James beaming face was such a relief.

James comes over more often than Tony goes to his place. Its – He knows he’s as welcomed there but just – James seems more comfortable hanging out at Tony’s place and Tony, well, he too. Sometimes, James stays over so late that Jarvis is glaring at him because he insists on going back home. They’ve extended the invite for him just bunk over multiple times now to even repeat it these days. It’s James’ choice to refuse the offer and Tony wishes he’ll come to accept it one day but he also knows that the only reason why James keeps refusing is because he feels the need to go back to the place he shares with his dad, wait for him to come back, even if he doesn’t on most days because albeit everything, Tony has come to know that James loves the man his dad once was. _“We used to play soccer, go to baseball games. We were those two father-son duos before -,”_ He never finished that sentence. Tony didn’t wait for him to either. It was understandable as it was.

It makes Tony wonder if it would be better to have had a history of father-son bond with Howard rather than the nothing he’d grown up with. To have had the ‘once upon a time’ which James has with his dad, to have once be able to call Howard ‘dad’ – but those kind of thoughts always spiralled down into something else, something different each time he revisits so he’d learned to stop thinking about it. Fact is, James’ father was once a dad but Howard never was and never will be. That’s why Tony has Jarvis and Tony would give anything to keep Jarvis; _anything._

“How’s Saturday?” James asks, his toes tickling Tony’s ear. He’s sprawled over the bed, reading 1984 while Tony sits at his study desk, writing to Howard about Obie’s latest email inquiring what’s new in SI’s R&D – which he mulled over the entire night yesterday when he got it because that seems like a standard curious question. After all, Obie is a member of the board and it is expected for him to ask such question. Even if it is the first time he’d shown such curiosity. Then another mail arrived and that changed everything; it was more specific. Asking about how the latest schematic for prosthesis which Howard asked Tony to work on in high confidential was coming through. So there Tony is sending Howard an email about it and forwarding Obie’s emails to him.

“Saturday what?” He asks distractedly. Glaring at Obie’s email ID. He doesn’t get it. He just doesn’t –

“You weren’t listening were you?” James snorts, putting the book down and Tony turns to him with an apologetic smile. “Bike. I promised to teach you how to ride, remember?”

Tony flushes instantly. Oh lord, it’s been months. It’s bleeding into spring now but good god, he still feels the embarrassment coursing through his veins like it was only yesterday. James smirks like he can read it all on Tony’s face. Tony doesn’t doubt that. He takes him by his ankle and pushes his knees up to his chest, forcing the uncomfortable stretching, effectively pulling out a string of pained complaints from James who grabs at Tony and tackles him down. They toss and turn and tickle for some time before James pushes Tony down onto his back and straddles his hips.

The compromising position arouses interesting reaction in the south, and before everything can go pear shaped, he shoves at James chest, who gives, still grinning as he rolls onto his back, plopping right next Tony on the bed and they stare at the ceiling, catching their breaths. Tony knows very well what’s running through his own head but he wonders what’s going through James’ head as he turns to regard him.

 _He’s beautiful_ , he thinks secretly. Dark hair, deep eyes, grey in the spring sunlight like oasis; he’s got a straight nose and a pair of pink lips. He shaves clean but Tony knows that he gets stubbles when he misses two days of the routine, and he wears that well too. There’s a cleft to his chin, his cheekbones are high but still a little rounded. When he’s on his back, his sharp jaw is a little undefined and he has an adorable little double chin underneath.

He’s attractive, has always been a handsome guy, but Tony thinks he’s beautiful while he looks at that freckle next to his ear, the one on his neck. He’s beautiful with healed bruises, there’s a fading set of fingerprints around his left wrist Tony knows he’s hiding. He’s beautiful as he breathes, closes his eyes and just breathes; his chest rising and sinking and he’s beautiful when his lips part slightly to exhale in a soft sigh.

He’s also beautiful when he talks about books and old literature. He’s beautiful when he eats like there’s not enough food for him, when he snores while he naps because he’s almost always folded in the oddest positions, when he gets _this_ look when he has to go home some days. He’s beautiful when he banters with Jarvis, and they bake together in the kitchen, when they gang up to tease Tony. He’s beautiful when he trips over his own foot and checks if anyone is watching, when he smiles, laughs, and when he’s just him – he’s beautiful, Tony thinks.

“You’re staring.” James murmurs. He still has his eyes closed and it’s a testament to how familiar Tony has become to him and his presence, how accepting he is towards his own feelings for James that he doesn’t look away.

“And if I am?” He asks just as softly.

James smiles and Tony feels his hand reaching for Tony’s blindly, twining their fingers together loosely and he looks down when James brings them up to his stomach. Watches the way their skins’ colours are a shade different from the other. The way James’ hand is slightly bigger, finger’s longer than Tony’s. The way his skin is rough, callouses at such young age, like a working man because James _is_ , a hard-working man, even if he’s only a boy still. His nails are short and kept. Tony’s skin has more cuts and burn scars but those are only because he can be clumsy and careless when he’s working in his workshop. His nails are clean and cut short too, but his thumbnail bear evidence of being gnawed on a frequent basis. James gives a gentle squeeze and Tony looks up to see James watching him.

His eyes are searching Tony’s, there’s a little dent between his brows and Tony squeezes back, smiling. They can kiss, Tony thinks. Right then and right there, they can lean in and just press their mouths together; a kiss.

But there’s something more profound in the way they already, just are. Lying there side by side; solar system painted over the ceiling, the entire galaxy over them, watching, and their hands in each other’s; just feeling their skin, the weight of them and James’ eyes on his, like an infinite galaxy themselves. Tony gets lost in them instead of the planets and orbits drawn overhead; can easily spend an eternity getting lost in them and that’s both saying something and scary.

“You’re beautiful,” James tells him, quiet and refrained, his palm’s a little clammy in Tony’s hand. Tony squeezes it again and leans in to kiss his cheek. His own face feels warm, hot even, but that’s fine. Everything’s fine; perfect even. James is still looking so he says, “Stop reading my mind.”

-

The next time Caleb and his punk ass gang corners Tony, thinking finally, James is not with him – they get their asses handed right back to them.

This time when Tony punches, he hurts them more than he hurts himself and look! He actually hits the target. Ha.

Thanks to all those tips James has hinted here and there, usually when they’re watching some movies with fight scenes in them, and Tony actually _has_ paid attention. How to make a fist, how to jab, how to give a proper punch and Tony watches in awe as one of Dorran’s friend falls, groaning on the floor, thinking woah - _Woah! I know how to punch!_

But then, Caleb himself closes in and his other four asshole buddies grab Tony, holding him back, like a bag for Caleb to practice his punches and kicks on and when Tony sees him taking a swing, he closed his eyes and is already embracing for impact, although he should duck, but that little adrenaline spike from landing a punch earlier had dwindled and suddenly Tony’s back to that scrawny kid, waiting for the axe to hit his neck and waiting and –

But the blow never lands. Instead, he hears Caleb Dorran’s groan and when he looks up – oh, thank fucking god – James is there.

He grabs the guy into a headlock and says something too quiet for Tony to hear but Caleb’s eyes widen and when James lets him go, he collects his goonies and leave without turning back. Not a word or even a single look of at Tony – he just ups and leaves.

James waits until the changing room’s door closes before turning to glare at Tony. “Which part of duck didn’t you get?” His voice is deceptively calm but his eyes are ablaze as he walks up to Tony.

“I landed a punch?” Tony tries to shrug, letting James look him over; carefully gentle as he tilts Tony’s head this way and that, pats his flanks, checks his feet and his hands. He’s extra cautious when he handles Tony’s right hand, voice a hoarse murmur and he’s frowning at Tony’s knuckles, eyes not meeting Tony as he asks softly, “Does it hurt?”

Tony shakes his head, “Nope,” His own voice a little squeaky as he tries not to squirm under James’ intense attention. “I think I hurt him though.”

James looks up then, his eyes darting all over Tony’s face and he blinks and blinks again as if he’s trying to chase away tears before he yanks Tony into his chest and hugs him tight. “He won’t bother you anymore.” He whispers fiercely.

“Um, I don’t know about that.”

“He won’t.” James says confidently. Tony frowns, but he lets James hug the life out of him while he’s at it.

Later, when he asks how he’s so sure, James half shrugs and tells him that everyone has their dirty secrets.

_“Did you just blackmail him?”_

_“I will if he touches you again.”_

Tony doesn’t know if that is fair, but it sure does keep Caleb and his gang away from him.

_-_

The first time they kiss, it’s Saturday, the sun is out, the sky is blue and there are cherry blossoms fluttering over their heads.

Tony had just finished perfecting the schematic for that prosthesis Howard asked. Howard had approved so Tony agreed to spend his suddenly free Saturday afternoon learning how to ride the bike. Tony’s a fast learner and James is an excellent teacher, so it’s not too long before Tony’s taking James’ bike for a ride, James behind him, sturdy chest brushing against his back, a warm comfort that keeps Tony’s grip on the handles steady.

Occasionally, James will murmur an instruction or a tip into his ears, adjusting Tony’s grip on the handle; too _close_ and his breath too hot, fanning over Tony’s nape. They’re practically glued together when Tony pulls up at the park under the hill behind his suburban neighbourhood. Tony grabs some crisps and wraps from an overpriced convenience store nearby and they eat on a bench under a cherry blossom tree. The sun is warm on their faces and the breeze is crisp and cold. Sometimes it’s too windy and Tony wraps his jacket tighter around him.

They sit close, James’ arm over Tony’s shoulder, tucking him to his warm side once he’s done with the food. He’s got his head tilted up towards the sky, eyes closed and he looks at peace so Tony pokes him at his waist. James flinches, and when Tony pokes his tongue out at him, he smiles softly and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Tony could have tripped over his words, could have flushed and embarrassed himself, could have ruined it all then and there, but the sun is out and the sky is blue. The cherry blossoms are white and fading pink above them; one or two fall over, fluttering petals kissing their faces when they do. James looks so at peace, no anxiousness or worry lines, just… calm and Tony understands that; somewhere deep inside him, he gets why James feels like that – Like anything can happen yet nothing will ruin them.

Tony curls a hand over James nape, pulls him down and kisses him.

Lips pressing against lips; mouth over another mouth – smiling, a little puckered presses here and there, breathy laughs, then James tips his chin up, angles their faces and slots their mouth together; wet and hot and oh so warm. Tony breathes through his nose and latches onto him; one hand teasing the curls at the nape of his neck and another around the lapel of his leather jacket. He feels James' hand sliding down his flank, squeezing his waist and when Tony lets out a little sound, James pulls away. He’s still smiling, forehead pressed against Tony’s and when he blinks his eyes open, they’re dark – pupils blown out and intense on Tony. Tony licks his own lips, gives a small peck to James’ and says, “Yes.”

James’ thumb skirts over the shell of his ear, down and behind. His soft smile widens, threatening to break into a grin which he bites back by sucking in his lower lip. Tony kisses the corner of his mouth and laughs when James lets out a huff, cups both of his cheeks and kisses him open, deep and breathless. His tongue is searing hot when they slip in between Tony’s lips and it’s a little frantic at times, breathless at the end and when they part again, they have to take a moment to catch their breaths this time. Tony has never kissed anyone before but he’s pretty sure it’s not the same for James. It doesn’t matter though, it’s better even; James guiding him where he’s unsure and James is an excellent teacher.

They kiss until their hairs are mussed and they can’t feel their lips. James looks properly debauched; dark eyes, flushed cheeks and neck, with spit slicked and kiss swollen lips. Tony’s positive he looks just as bad or maybe even worse. He sees James’ pulse jumping on his neck. He feels faint himself; not the bad kind but giddy-high. Like he’s afloat, his brain’s a mush and all he can see and feel are James, warmth and _James_.

The journey back home is a quiet lull of excitement and mostly contentment. It’s James who rides this time, Tony in the back, hugging; hands locked over James’ stomach, cheek pressed over his jacketed shoulder and he swears he can feel the warmth of James’ skin seeping through the layers. Sometimes, James keeps one hand around the handle and he puts the other over Tony’s, thumb brushing over knuckles. It’s refreshingly breezy and the sun is lovingly warm and Tony smiles until his face hurt until James pulls up in front of his house.

He scuffs his shoe over the pavement. He has this insane urge to drag James into his room and make out with him until tomorrow; to kiss every inch of him, memorise his taste, discover and rediscover him tirelessly. But he knows that he can’t do that. Not today at least. James has to go to work, he’s subbing for a colleague who’s sick. So Tony tip toes and kisses his cheek. He says his _goodbye, take care and text me_ , but when he turns to leave, he can’t take another step away from James.

It’s then, when he realises, like an idiot, that James’ been holding his hand this entire time. And he’s not letting it go. Instead, he tugs Tony into a hug and pulls back just enough to kiss him on the mouth.

Tony’s gone – too far gone. He’s burning from the inside out, his core is ablaze with wants and desires, toes curling as he presses close and closer still to James. He’s over consumed; lost in James that he doesn’t hear a car pull up and a bark of his name.

No, he’s so tightly wrapped in James that it takes a blaring car horn to jolt them both aware. And when he opens his eyes, he wishes it’s just a deceitful nightmare; something that starts sweet and ends in calamity, because that can’t be Howard, can it?

James grip around his hand tightens. Tony stands, shaken and still reeling from disbelief. Howard is looking like he’s going to murder Tony.

When Howard turns around and walks into the house wordlessly, his silence is loud enough for Tony to get the message. He shakes James hand off, tells him not to worry, and numbly, he follows Howard back into the house.

 _Bad behaviour_ , that squeaky voice in his head taunts. _Bad behaviour, bad behaviour, bad behaviour._

When Tony enters the study, Howards asks him to shut the door. His belt is already pulled out from his pants and when Tony kneels, it doesn’t take too long before it makes its first imprint on his skin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James' POV

James is happy.

For the first time since forever, he _feels_ happy. It didn’t happen in an instant, didn’t burst into a display of fireworks over the night sky; all bold, bright, beautiful and breath-taking. No. Instead, it crept up on him.

It started the day he lent his hankie. He knows now for sure, that it was that day, when he saw this scrawny kid who always wore blood outside his skin, the boy who was too young to be among them but way smarter than all of them combined. The boy who didn’t belong, who struggled to belong, who walked with his head down, along the shadows so no one saw him. The boy who made James snap and use his mother’s hankie – her only belonging he carried around dearly – to wipe his blood and right then – at that very moment, James hadn’t known how that boy would shake his world.

But shake his world, he did. Anthony Edward Stark. James now knows him as Tony; _his_ Tony.

The thing is, James didn’t even consider befriending the kid when he approached for his help in Algebra. Didn’t expect to like the kid, to get introduced to Mr J, to befriend the kid, to befriend Mr J, to be sewn into their life like he belonged there, with them; just like that, so easily. Didn’t dream he would, one day, have free access to the Stark’s fancy house. Didn’t think he would stop and really see Tony. Stop and just, see how brilliant he is, how magnanimous he is, how kind, funny, sarcastic, wonderful, _perfect –_ didn’t think he would fall for him. Until, well, he did.

And that too, was ridiculously easy.

One day, they were friends, then they were good, best, friends, and the next, he is catching himself staring at Tony’s lips. Staring at Tony working on his schematics, gnawing on the end of his pens and pencils, tapping them against the book, his hands, his fingers, the burns and cuts all over them – sometimes, streaks of grease and motor oil on his arm or cheek and the burning ache below his stomach to wipe them away – to simply, cup Tony’s face, wipe it away and kiss that spot and – yeah.

James fell for Tony.

Once he realised that, everything became clearer, breathing became easier; he can see the future now, if he’s bold enough to say. After a long time, James knows what he wants in life. Not just in terms of his profession, but his life; his future – he can envision a day in it, say, ten years later, and he can see Tony with him.

That’s over-ambitious; sure, one can say that. Hell, even James feels terrified the first time he day dreamed such vivid future, he thought he’d lost his mind. Then, he thought it was maybe just the high of being in love, that his head was tricking him – and it may be, it is, too early to negate that possibility. But something in him is sure, something in him is confident this will happen —like a déjà vu; not just any day dream.

Regardless, James loves Tony. That didn’t change and that gave him enough courage to ask Tony if he can kiss him. It was risky, to just blurt out such question the way he did. But at that time, it had felt right; it had felt as if everything in the universe had merged and collided, ended and aligned for that moment and James seized it. He'd felt his heart swell with happiness like it had never felt before, yet he felt so light, afloat, as if he was on a cloud and he’d asked; “Can I kiss you?”

Thinking back, he doesn’t regret it – can never regret _that_ kiss, but god is he guilty for the one he stole in front of Tony’s house.

He was leaving for work; he was feeling so relieved and elated from what he’d just shared with Tony under the tree. He was going to miss him when all he wanted then was to follow Tony back inside and show him just how much he loves him; to kiss him and hold him in his arms forever, to breathe him in and nothing else for the entire day but.

But –

Right now, James frantically unbuttons his uniform with one hand while muttering, “C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up,” into his phone. The shirt comes off before the dial tone ends, unanswered. James redials; shrugging into his own shirt and jacket before sprinting out to where he’d parked his bike.

He couldn’t get out of the shift. He’d promised Maria and it was too late to find another alternative by the time he’d watched Tony follow his father with a gut wrenching feeling. He’d texted Tony, scared if he’d called then it would get him in more trouble. But, he’d called Mr J. He had too. He had to make sure Mr J know and until Mr J had assured him, he hadn't realised that he’d needed to hear that for himself too.

It took everything to not accidentally slice his fingers with the ham slicer. What a day to work the deli corner. He’d barely lasted, watching the clock creep like a crawler and it was only after he'd bribed Barton with lunch on Monday if he come in earlier that he could exit work half an hour before his shift ended.

But Mr J isn’t picking up the phone. And Tony hadn’t replied to any of his texts. All of them are still unread and James is growing increasingly worried with every passing minute. The last time he’d felt like this –

No.

No – That is not – No. Mr J said he’ll make sure Tony is okay. Mr J promised – Mr J –

“Fuck.” James cusses, revving up the engine. The wind is whipping cold against his face, biting cold. He can feel his nose freezing off, but his mind is stuck in a loop. All the same thoughts, same worries running in circles; round and around, over and over. Fuck. He hates this - Hates this so fucking much.

The road is empty for a Saturday night. Then he remembers that this is a suburban neighbourhood. This is where the classy people live not low lives like his in his equally shitty neighbourhood filled with drunkards and party goers; hooligans wide awake, shouting at the top of their lungs as late as five in the morning. This is different; lawns are mowed here every week, one has to leave their ID with the guard at the guardhouse before they even enter the area.

But James is such a regular face and Mr Denario only takes his ID now, he no longer bothers to make an advanced call to inform Mr J that James is visiting; James thinks Mr J has something to do with that much of liberty. Doesn’t know if he deserves it, but that night as he hands over his ID and nods at Mr Denario, he’s grateful for the privilege. Something tells him that if they’ve called to inform about James' visit right then, he wouldn’t have been granted an entrance. That would have sucked. And hurt too – like a bitch.

He stops the engine a few feet before Tony’s place, kicks down the stand and pulls out his phone to make another call. This time, he lingers a while over Tony’s ID, thumb pressing down but before he swipes, he quickly changes his mind and swipes over Mr J’s instead. The dial tone begins and ends. He redials; it begins and –

“Hello.”

“Mr J,” James exhales in pure relief. “Is -,”

“Master Anthony is fine.”

James physically feels the tension bleed out of him, every tensed string of muscle relaxing, he doesn’t realise it was hard to breathe until it got easier. Honestly, James thinks he can cry right about now. “Thank you.” He nearly sobs.

There’s a beat of silence and he hears Mr J swallow before he offers, “Use the backdoor, and please be careful to keep quiet.”

James feels himself nodding before he blurts out, “Yes.” Running shaky fingers through his curls; they feel greasy. He doesn’t remember when he last showered but he couldn’t care. He wants to see Tony and he _is_ going to see him.

He parks his bike behind the garage, rounding up the expansive house to where the kitchen is; brightly lit. Mr J’s hovering tall shadow is an assuring comfort. James twists the knob and waits before he pushes the door open. All those bled out tension from earlier comes back like a tide as soon as he sees Mr J’s face.

Mr J is not a very expressive person by nature. Even in his happiest moment, he is consciously humble in emoting. He doesn’t laugh as boisterously as any other person; he smiles and the width of that smile is the measure of his joy. James has seen him grin once or twice. His laugh, once, and it had been like witnessing a miracle. It was something Tony had said or done and his laugh had been soft and brief; like a shooting star, short lived. James still wonders if that had just been an optical illusion.

It goes the same for his displeasures, anger and frustrations. Mr J is very careful about his expressions hence, seeing that frown and worry lines on his face is jarring.

Before James can open his mouth, Mr J tilts his head, wordlessly leading James down the dimmed hallway. They pass by the study which, for a change, is closed. James sees the sliver of light where the door meets the floor; feels his brain activates the flight or fight response; mostly for the latter than the former. He punches his fist into his jacket pocket and keeps his eyes on the back of Mr J’s feet. Fucking Howard fucking Stark.

Asshole.

Whatever he did to Tony –

Mr J’s hand over his arm pulls him out of his thoughts. They’ve reached Tony’s room. James turns back to Mr J who nods, pushing open the door to let him through. “Thanks,” He mouths, stepping in and immediately stopping.

He feels the door shut against his back. Hears the thud, sees the Tony shaped lump on the bed; too small in a too big thing. Like everything in Tony’s life. He clears his throat expecting it to be enough to let Tony know he’s here. But – Not a single twitch from the lump.

James swallows and takes a step. Then another and another until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, heart going mile a minute in his chest. His pulse is jumping all over and he doesn’t know why he is so nervous about it – Mr J said he’s okay, right? Then, Tony should be okay. Still –

Fingernails dig into palm, he inhales and uncurls his fingers and he reaches for the lump. But something makes him pause and hover, second guessing. He shakes that off, shakes that wrong feeling inside him off and places his hand over what he assumes is Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony?” His voice embarrassingly cracks. James breathes in again and squeezes the lump lightly. The comforter shifts under his hand, a little wiggle and squirming and a tuft of brown hair peeks out. James aches with so many feelings swirling within him. He retracts his hand and keeps it balled on the bed beside his knee.

Wide red-rimmed eyes blink, then a blotched nose and a pair of flushed cheeks slowly appear out of the cocoon. When Tony does speak, it’s a muffled raspy crackle. James swallows as if he can chase that grating down his own throat.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” James replies numbly. He gulps again as Tony shifts some more to face him. He seems to struggle with the motion, wincing as he clumsily wiggles his way around, still wrapped in his comforter and James frowns. At once, a myriad of scary possibilities runs across his mind; all pointing towards Tony being somewhat hurt by Howard. Physically.

He shakes his head to rid of those thoughts. Howard – Whatever he is, James doesn’t think he’d go to that extent. Even his dad won’t touch him unless his dead drunk, Howard is educated and what not, he’s of those high class people; rich, entitled, fancy crowd who discipline their kids by talking to them but –

What if?

Because James knows Tony and Tony is not – Tony doesn’t – Shit.

He watches as Tony winces again, screwing his eyes shut, biting hard on his lips as if he’s trying to swallow the pain and fuck –

“Did he – Tony, did he beat you?”

He feels Tony’s walls hike up. He sees him regard James carefully. For some reason, something Tony had said long time ago comes to the forefront; the smell of alcohol, his dad’s fist connecting with his face, the wedding ring he never took off catching at James' ear, tearing his lobe –

_It’s okay. I understand._

_Shit,_ James thinks. _Shit, fuck, fucking shit._

His fingers tremble with the need to clock Howard. He doesn’t know what he did, but he had hurt Tony and god, does James wants to hurt him back as badly.

“Fuck.” He says, biting his own teeth. _Fuck, Tony. I’m so sorry_ , he wants to say. _You don’t deserve this. Is this why you’ve never flinched when those assholes beat you up? Is this why? How often does he do this to you? Fuck. I’m sorry. I wish I – I’ll kill him. I swear. God -,_ “Fuck.”

“Wanna watch Home Alone?” Tony’s voice is meek, raw from all the crying that James never saw. He still finds some energy inside him to smile at James; timid and tentative. James wants to yell at him for putting up with this (as if he could talk). Take him away, elope to somewhere far where they’ll be safer, and he’ll make Tony happy. Bring Mr J along, just somewhere, far, far away. More than that, he wants to hold Tony, keep him close and safe, to make sure no one lays another finger on him. Even if it is Howard – He’ll do anything to make sure of that.

Tony’s smile withers, fading. James leans down to press a kiss over the side of his head and he pretends his voice is steady as he whispers a short ‘yeah’ into his skin.

-

They share one comforter. Tony lets him in, at least physically; makes a space for James to worm into the blanket burrito he’d made around himself after he’d rid of his jacket and shoes. It’s warm. Toasty.

James pulls Tony half on top of him, seeking comfort in his weight, his scent, and that familiar size of his lithe frame in his arms. He traces circles over Tony’s skin, the inch of softness between his thumb and his trigger finger. The motion almost absent minded as he stares at the laptop screen but not at all registering what’s happening. A small sniffle alerts him to Tony once or twice. Each time he expects to see tears; the anticipation wrapped around in gripping fear, but every time, he doesn’t. Tony seems very much done with crying.

James doesn’t know what to do about that, because he feels like breaking down too. Either from relief or anger, he’s not sure, but something is slamming within him to burst out. He takes a few deep breaths to ease that feel, to revise the day, analyse it, analyse how he feels, thinking perhaps it will help. But there’s a memory that he’d been adamantly avoiding for two years, taking a forefront now. He knows what triggered it. He knows why it’s here, why now, but still –

He presses a hand over his eyes, rubbing his face upwards. A shiver wrecks down his spine. Near him, Tony apologizes softly. “Sorry,” He croaks. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

Something in James breaks. “I had to know if you’re safe.” He inhales and exhales through his nose, trying to steady his breaths and his mind.

“Jarvis told me he -,”

“I had to see for myself.” James interrupts him. His grip around Tony’s hand tightens and he consciously loosens it. “Sorry.” He says.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I – um. It’s okay. I’m glad you came.”

James nods tightly, glaring at the laptop screen. He’s glad he’s here too.

Later, when James feels calmer, when his thumb has resumed the circles over Tony’s skin and when he can laugh at the movie, albeit at odd places and dryly, he buries his nose into Tony’s hair and breathes him in. “I got worried.” He admits. “I called Mr J after shift but he never picked up and I -,” He inhales sharply and swallows.

Tony shifts closer to him, pressing his cheek against James’ chest and curling around him. At this point, neither of them are really watching the movie, but they let it run anyway. “’M sorry.” Tony murmurs into his throat and James shakes his head. “No. Don’t apologize. Not your fault. It’s – I shouldn’t have kissed you -,”

He feels Tony tensing instantly and he adds, “I don’t regret it. I just feel like – If I hadn’t kissed you in front of your house, he wouldn’t have – this wouldn’t have -,”

“It was worth it.” Tony shrugs him off. James bristles. “How can you say that?” He nearly hisses. Tony’s still pressed against him, and it’s not like James is trying to shake him off, in fact he’s holding him tighter, more afraid to lose him; to let him go.

Defiance flares in Tony’s eyes when he looks up at James, challenging. “I like you. I like you and I will kiss you and let you kiss me and Howard can go fuck himself.”

James jaw slackens, his lips part and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. There’s a concoction of feelings stirring within him; pride, smugness that makes him want to preen at how far Tony’s willing to go for him. A fuck ton of aching longing and fondness but there’s also fear. There’s also that nagging guilt. “Tony,” He sighs, nosing at his curls again. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

Tony’s fingers curl, dragging the fabric of James' threadbare shirt tight around his chest as he fists onto them. “I hate him.” He whispers shakily, voice a thin frail thing. 

For a while, they simply breathe. The silence soothing like a balm as Tony unwinds, relaxing into James and James in turn, sinking into the mattress under their combined weight. The movie ends, the credits begin and they too, end. It’s eerily quiet after that, the darkness of the night is dense outside Tony’s window; the kind of density that you feel past midnight, after the day ends and a new day begins.

James should go back home.

As if he can sense what James’ thinking, Tony looks up at him. James curls his fingers through the soft strands at Tony’s nape and looks back, drowning in the set of doe eyes before he looks away into the dense night. He feels Tony’s gaze burning into him even if he doesn’t see. He eases his hold around him, hand slipping from his shoulder to his back and he rubs down, stilling abruptly when Tony flinches, wincing.

When James turns to him, he’s no longer looking. James takes a long breath in and asks, “What did he do?”

“Nothing unusual,” Tony mumbles into James’ shirt.

“Tell me anyway.”

Tony says something, but it’s too muffled even as James strains to listen harder. He tips Tony’s chin up and asks him to repeat. Tony avoids meeting his eyes, but he does answer; too soft and, he says, “Whipped me.”

James hand reflexively tightens around Tony’s waist. Tony doesn’t say anything else. James doesn’t know what to say. Then he realises that Tony’s waiting for him to say something. He opens his mouth and the first thing that comes out is, “Can I see?”

Tony freezes, wide eyes blinking after a while and James pretty sure he’s colouring up high on his cheeks. Still, he clenches his jaw and waits. Tony can say no, but there was nothing untrue about what he'd asked. It may be too forward or invasive – again, Tony can deny him.

But Tony nods, and he peels himself away from James, sitting up – it’s stuffy inside the comforter, restricting them of much movement. James unfolds a side and sits up, keeping an eye on Tony whilst seeming like he’s not creepily watching every single movement of his as Tony pulls off his shirt - back facing James – revealing pale skin marred by sweltering red marks that stretch across it haphazardly.

James fingers itch to touch and he curls them tightly into fists. He sees a sheen of something reflective, like an ointment, all over them, understands that could be what Jarvis was busy with when James called him.

Wordlessly, he grabs the shirt, hooks his thumbs at each end of its collar and pushes it down Tony’s head. Then he waits patiently until Tony worms his arms through the sleeves before he pulls the shirt down and pushes Tony’s head into his chest. His heart is hammering, his nerves are cross firing. Somehow, the numbness still over powers him. He remembers what Tony had said after he cleaned up James’ cheek and ear that night; _It’s okay. I understand._ Now he sees what he meant then. Now he feels what Tony could have felt then; and neither sits right in his gut. Remembers how he'd felt then; craving for someone beside him, a company of what ever or which ever form.

James doesn’t go back home that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV

Waking up is surreal. His back is sore, it burns with every brush of his shirt against his skin but all those take the background to the feel of the steady rise of chest, warm and solid beneath him. For a millisecond, Tony was confused. But that immediately changes as soon as he breathes in lungful of James’ earthy scent that kick starts all his memories from a few hours ago. He cannot help it but smile, pressing his cheek flatter to James’ chest and hugs him as he closes his eyes and just, take it all in.

Somewhere in the peace of his mind, he remembers jolting awake in the middle of the night to some muffled arguments, he was too deep down in slumber to really think through what it was then but right now as he recalls, he sits up straight, shaking James awake in his hasty motion.

“W-Whu-,” James mumbles sleepily, eyes still mostly closed as he fights against the sunlight streaming through the window. Tony’s mouth quiver in attempt to swallow back a giddy urge to giggle and to no sigh like a love-drunk fool when James’ hand reaches blindly for his – a satisfied grunt when it finds its goal and Tony tips back downward, cushioning his head with James’ chest once more. “Think J and Howard fought last night.”

James huffs and makes a small sound before he speaks; voice deliciously husky from sleep, raw and sexy, sending a sharp punch of arousal straight to Tony’s dick. “Mm, they did.”

Tony squirms, rubbing his thighs together and avoiding any contact chest down with James and he asks faintly, “You heard.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” James rasps. “’N they were loud.”

He feels the tentative feather light touch of James’ fingers over his back, testing, before they curl firmly around his hip. Tony tries not to shudder and fails horrendously. He swallows thickly, “What did they argue about?” He asks distractedly. James doesn’t make much movements after that, apparently perfectly settled just the way he is; right under Tony, used as a make shift pillow while he cradles Tony’s head with one hand and another cups his hip lightly.

His fingers in Tony’s hair though, are hypnotizing in their motion; flexing and relaxing in the mess of his bed head, back of the nails lightly rubbing and once in a while, James fill press the tips into the skull, really press them, and the first time he does it, Tony has to bite his tongue so a moan doesn’t escape him.

“You, of course,” James tells him breezily. Then, “I’m really glad Jarvis is there for you.”

James does the fingertips pressing the second time, Tony waits until he’s breathing evenly to say, “And I worry that you’re alone.”

James hums, his digits around Tony’s hip tightens as if to answer. “Not really.” He trails thoughtfully, “I have you.”

Tony’s heart skips a beat. He bites his lower lip hard and nuzzles up into James’ throat. “And Jarvis. We’re your family.” He murmurs into the hot skin. His lips skim over it as he speaks, and in response James shudders under him. Tony hugs him tight and breathes him in.

Three neat knocks on the door interrupt them. Tony sits up for propriety, but he stays put, attached partly to James still. Jarvis pops his head in and James props himself on his elbows just in time to smile at him sheepishly. “Hello, Mr J.” He greets. “Morning, J.” Tony waves.

Jarvis lets himself in and wishes them both, “Good morning, Master Anthony and Mr B. I’ll have you both know that breakfast is ready. It’s Sunday, the fourth of April at 9.05 in the morning, the weather is sunny and lightly windy today and your father has left the house before dawn due to some business emergencies, Master Anthony.” Then he turned to James and reports with faux primness, “I’ve taken the liberty to move your motorbike into the garage, Mr B. If I may, I think your ride could use a… wash.” He wrinkles his nose.

Both James and Tony bursts into laughter and Jarvis cracks a small smile before leaving them to wash up and turn up for breakfast.

-

It was relief more than anything that fuelled the mood of the day. Tony catches James looking conflicted several times, when he asks, James shakes his head and sighs, “I should go home.” Tony doesn’t stop him or encourage him, but James doesn’t leave either.

After breakfast, Tony brings James to the garage. He’s a little nervous because he’s never done this before but the thing is, he wants to. Something makes this decision feel so right that he’s eager to do it, even if he _is_ , nervous.

_“I have something to show you.”_ He’d said to James after breakfast. Jarvis was putting away the dishes but Tony caught his tiny knowing smile. He’d taken James hand in his and brought them to where they’re stood now, in front of his workshop.

Tony has never explicitly told James that no one is yet to enter his sanctum. But James isn’t too dumb to not figure that out for himself after months of hanging out together. “You sure?” He asks. Tony squeezes his hand before he lets go. “It’s nothing much in there.” He shrugs, although it feels like he is baring his soul, literally, for James to see. His heart pounds in its cage. James steps in before him and Tony closes the door and locks it shut.

It’s a wide space. Parts of machines and engines scattered in what may seem, randomly, but Tony knew they’re arranged meticulously. It’s a mess at first glance, but if you look closely, it’s an intricate complicated system at work in the place. Tony watches James reaching for his unfinished robot prototype lying on one of the work table and once upon a time, when he’d imagined about letting people into his workshop, he’d always thought the first thing he would say will be, _‘Don’t touch!’._

But right then, as he sees James look at him for permission, he smiles and he finds that he doesn’t have to say that to James because he’ll know. He’ll know to be gentle and to be careful. Tony doesn’t have to tell him all that because James already knows; already makes Tony feels safe, enough for Tony to trust him with his own heart.

So he lets him.

He lets James touch and he watches as how gentle and careful he is, and he feels his own skin tingle from the ghost of those same long, lean fingers caressing over his back last night. “I’m trying to programme an AI,” he confides. He tells him about his passion of robotics, what he wants to do in future, “Howard is pushing at one of those Ivy leagues but I want MIT. Guess it’ll be another repeat of last night when I tell him that.”

“How often?” James asks, sidling up to him and they stare at the expanse of the shop together, leaned against Tony’s sketching table.

“Rarely.” He murmurs, picking up James’ hand and fitting his fingers around the fading purple lines decorating his wrist. _Not as often as yours_. James pries them away and brings them up to his mouth, kissing each tip and as he does and Tony leans into him, tucks his head under his chin and says, “Something’s bothering you.”

He both feels and hears James swallowing. He presses the tip of his nose up the column of James’ throat and breathes him in.

-

James stops to run a hand over his bike once they’ve exited Tony’s workshop. “Wanna go back?” Tony asks. James shakes his head, “Not yet.” And they make it back into the house.

It is indeed sunny and breezy. Tony puts away the pile of papers over his tables just so he can open the windows and let the breeze in. James perches on the sill, looking out, one leg up, bent at the knee and another dangling down, toes grazing the floor. Tony stands in between them, chin propped over James’ knee and eyes closed, feeling the air caress his cheeks.

They watch the leaves dance and the weeds bloom, they breathe in the breeze and when James speaks, Tony has an odd feeling as if this was what they’ve been waiting for.

\- For James to reply to his statement in the shop. Even though it didn’t even feel like they were; waiting.

“Ma sent me out to buy bread, one day. It was the first time she’d trusted me with money, I was four or five, don’t really remember. I went out, paid for the bread, counted my balance until I was sure it was correct and I ran back home, ecstatic about my first purchase, all by myself, you know -,” He smiles ruefully. “And I heard someone crying. I got closer, took a look, it was a boy, smaller than me, and he was beaten up – bad,” James pauses, lost in thought for a minute then shakes his head.

“My first friend. _Best_ friend. He went to a different school but we were same age, so we hung out together after school, at the park, playing stupid stuffs. We grew up together. He always got beaten up. Had a mouth that could stir a fight that firecracker - He was tiny, but it never stopped him from standing up to bullies. If I’m there, I’d beat them up for him, but most of the times, they jump him when he’s alone. One day,” James breath hitches, Tony turns his head, presses his cheek to James’ bent knee, uncaring about the discomfort of bone pushing up his cheekbone as he looks at him. James’s frowning, gaze still trained into faraway nothing. “It was after Ma got sick, she was hospitalised and dad had work that day so I had to go keep her company. I waited at our usual meeting spot to tell him that. He got beaten up that day too. He looked bad, but he’d looked worse before, so when he said he was fine, I believed him.”

James stops then, breathing deeply through his nose and Tony rubs the outside of his thigh soothingly. It takes a while for James to pick up from where he left, and when he does, he looks Tony straight in the eyes, harsh stare like he’s glowering but Tony knows better now to read that look as a glower. James has intense eyes, beautiful but they can be very intimidating, and James as a person is intense sometimes. Tony remembers when he used to decipher James’ look as smouldering, hot and sexy once upon a time, because they do look like that, like he’s out for blood, sinful danger, blaring warning for instincts to stay away, yet they were tempting, drawing moths to fire, Tony had likened them once – when he hadn’t known who James is.

Now, he sees the boy behind those eyes. He sees the pain and turbulence James tries to hide behind them and he sees a different kind of fire now, a different kind of warning – the kind which tells you that this endless pit is a ride or die. That once Tony’s in, there’ll be no out. And Tony’s not scared. He cups James’ cheek and brushes a thumb over his cheekbone.

James voice doesn’t shake or break, it’s as steady as his gaze as he recounts, “Autopsy said, broken ribs and ruptured spleen. If I had stayed and checked him properly – If I had _insisted_ he go to the hospital, he would have lived.”

Tony keeps brushing his thumb under his eye, and when a tear drops, it catches under his thumb and Tony wipes it away without a pause. “C’mere.” He says, straightening up to pull James into an embrace. He feels the desperate clutch around his waist, the caution, even in his haste of grievance, the thoughtful caution James exercises to not press over Tony’s back too harshly so he doesn’t hurt –

“I’m sorry.” Tony murmurs into his hair. James nods tightly but doesn’t let go. Tony hugs him until his arms are numb.

-

“I forgot!” Tony exclaims.

After lunch, James decided to listen to Jarvis and give his bike a wash. Tony helped. Mostly he laughed and splashed James with soap and dirty water but karma set all that right when he tripped on the pail and fell flat on his butt over its spilled content.

James had just finished his shower and Tony’s been picking through his shirts for one that can fit James when he finds the hankie. He pulls it out and waves it at James, deliberately keeping his eyes on his face, not where he’s half naked; chest glistening from droplets of water spraying all over as James scrubs his wet hair dry with a towel.

A smiles blooms across James face and he abandons the towel over the back of a chair as he steps up to Tony, illegally close, threatening to make Tony’s heart burst with nervous energy and bashfulness.

Bashfulness, hah! Never even knew he would one day be able to relate to that word, but there he is, skin prickling from James’ proximity and he tries not to blush or stop breathing, but fails at both at the same time. The scent of his own body wash is thick when he inhales, combined with his shampoo, both of which are coming from James.

James on the other hand, is either oblivious or pretends obliviousness as he presses too close to Tony, catching the hankie in his hand, examining it with an odd fondness, eyes locking onto Tony’s and he speaks, low and husky; like he did the very first time he handed the hankie to Tony, “It’s my ma’s.”

Deft fingers work around Tony’s neck and his breath is hot on Tony’s flushed skin as he leans in and out of Tony’s space. James’ fingers play along Tony’s throat, down his shoulder, stopping at the edge of the collar, skimming back up to where he’d knotted the hankie around Tony’s neck. “Hold it for me?” Tony gulps, the work of his throat muscle catching against the fabric around them, evoking something akin to primal arousal within him and he sags when James catches his mouth in a tender kiss; scorching hot tongue, wet and lazy as it strokes in, seeking and exploring every inch of him.

He hangs onto James, lets him hold onto his weight as they kiss and kiss, the edge of the drawer cutting above his ass and Tony moans, clutching to James’ naked waist. One hand plays with the loops of James’ jeans and when his index catches the one closest to the button, James jerks back and pries the digit away, watching Tony colour in both defiance and embarrassment with contained amusement.

“You’re too young.” He pecks Tony’s cheek.

Tony rolls his eyes, curling a finger through the loop challengingly as James watches him, indulging him with caution. “I’m sixteen.”

James quirks an eyebrow at him and Tony huffs, “Fine. _Going_ to be sixteen. Next month. 29. I swear. Get me a present.” _Preferably a blowjob_ , he doesn’t say, even if he _really_ wants to. “And you’ll be eighteen in August” Tony adds, suddenly shy.

James reads those in between lines flawlessly. His eyebrows climb up the roof, as if he’s impressed, and yet, he’s enjoying the whole ordeal. “Okay,” He agrees shortly. But his tone, dammit, Tony thinks. It’s his _nonchalant_ tone and that evil tiny smirk that he always gets when he’s planning something really devious that twists the already blooming arousal in Tony’s lower abdomen and Tony butts his head against James bare chest with a whine.

James pets his head and kisses it as he holds, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more chapters. /fingers crossed/ here's to keeping promises and ending this with 2019


	11. Chapter 11

It’s nothing as he’d expected; dating James that is.

Dating James is quiet.

They’re outcasts, the two of them. But James has his own fan girls who’ve taken upon them to express their disapproval towards Tony, in whichever explicit ways possible. Tony would deny that he’d ever found them a tad bit threatening, but he did. Once. Now, not so much and besides, they seem to have tired themselves out anyways, with lack of response from James.

Regardless, other than James’ creepy fan girls, neither of them have any friends except for each other. Tony’s classes begin with James two out of five days and ends without him all five days. In total, he shares two classes a week with James, both are of Advanced English Literature. In others, he’s alone, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch and for the end of school.

They have lunches together in places people don’t look or think of looking. It gives them the privacy they’ve come to cherish. It’s not that they hate mingling with other people, it’s just that there aren’t many students who are nice or even if they are nice, they shy away from interacting too much, or hesitate when it comes to hanging out together. They tend to either look down on Tony or want to treat him like their little brother or their errand boy whilst with James, Tony always feels like an equal. As if James doesn’t look at his age, his still developing frame and height, instead, he sees Tony; the person he is, inside that awkward teenaged body.

James doesn’t like people looking twice at him, so he deliberately avoids them all. It’s his bruises and wounds, Tony knows. It’s why James wears something so obnoxious, intimidating and scary because if the distracting fashion doesn’t work and eyes do end up on those marks his dad leaves on him, then they’ll think it’s because he’s a bad boy; like Tony once used to.

“Did you know? I used to have a huge crush on you.” Tony tells him, under their tree. He’s got his head cushioned on James’ lap, whose long legs are outstretched while gentle fingers comb through his hair. Tony looks at the sky and searches for bunnies among the clouds. “Way before you spoke to me, before you gave me your hankie.” He chances a glance and sees James head tilted back against the tree, eyes closed but not asleep.

“I used to think of you as a kid.” He murmurs lowly.

“What changed?”

James shrugs, lopsided. Tony frowns at his left shoulder, arm sitting limp on his lap, sandwiched between Tony and James’ stomach. He’d injured it last night, something his dad did in drunken stupor and James’ vague about it – is always vague about describing those encounters – but he insists it’s not dislocated or twisted. Tony had just finished having a heated argument with him about getting it properly checked. James refused, pulled Tony onto his lap and told him, _“For a while. Just - One minute. Stay.”_

Days like this are a rarity; the first time was when they’d just started opening up to each other, when they were only friends. It was a large bruise over James’ stomach. Tony had only found out because he’d elbowed James there and James had keeled. It was a quiet day then, it is a quiet day today.

There were many times Tony had wanted to ask James if he’d wanted to run away, if he’d wanted to maybe move in with Tony and Jarvis. Sometimes, he wants to say, _“If you want, Jarvis can report him,”_ but he doesn’t because it’s not Tony’s business. Jarvis doesn’t know. James didn’t tell Jarvis, he only told Tony, and above all that, it’s James’ dad.

Tony doesn’t want Howard to be arrested, and Tony doesn’t even have a relationship with him to begin with. Thus he can understand why James does what he does. That doesn’t stop Tony from wanting to save him though.

Dating James involves talking about their future, a lot. Since their present sucks, they like to dream about their better tomorrow.

There’s also the fact that James is graduating this year. And Tony doesn’t like to think about it, because he still has one more year left. But he cannot run away from it due to all those forms that James is filling up; for colleges, for scholarships and those are James’ primary concerns, and Tony, like a good boyfriend, listens to them and where he can, he gives suggestions. Mostly, it’s only the former and he has warranted faith. He’d seen James’ results, they’d been excellent while he was in his old school and after the shift, they had dropped but not so low to be bad. They’re good enough for at least four out of the five scholarship programmes James had applied for.

They talk about careers; which one they love, like and are alright with. They don’t make promises but they say “ _let’s pretend_ ” and they talk about the kind of house they’ll live in. Pets if they want any or more than one. The kind of place they want to settle in; city or suburb. Car or motorbike; kids or no kids, etcetera.

In reality, Tony knows that James will go to a medical school, himself to MIT, and James plans to see Europe before he starts working while Tony wants to programme an AI before he graduates high school. He knows that one day, Howard will turn the business over to Tony and that James will barely be able to sleep in three days. He knows that James will be an excellent doctor and Tony will be something, and they may not even be in a relationship anymore then. They may be dating someone else. Marrying someone else, start a family and settle down with someone else or none of those at all; as much as it hurts to think that, that may be their destined future. But Tony knows, deep in his bones, that even then, he will remember James as he is today and James will remember him, in return.

Dating James includes soft slippers, cuddling under blankets, YouTube videos, Tony’s workshop, James’ bike, and poetry.

“Time will say nothing but I told you so,  
Time only knows the price we have to pay;  
If I could tell you I would let you know.”

James reads out one evening. They had gotten their test results that day. James’s had excelled in Algebra and he’s celebrating by sprawling on Tony’s bed with Auden’s classics he’d borrowed from their school’s library while Tony draws lines and makes adjustments to the schematic he’s working on currently.

That’s another thing about James; his new found interest in literature. It started with 1984 then, To Kill a Mockingbird and now he’s onto poetry after reading through Shakespeare’s sonnet collection during those lunch times in winter months they’ve spent in the library.

Tony glances at him; a picture of carefree youth, loose shirt and skin tight jeans with mismatching socked feet hiked over the headboard of the bed. He tips his head back, chin tilting upwards as he grins abundantly at Tony, rolling onto his stomach later to perhaps, correct his vision; upside down to the right side up.

“If we should weep when clowns put on their show,  
If we should stumble when musicians play,  
Time will say nothing but I told you so.”

Tony carefully erases an overdrawn line and swirls on his chair facing James fully; giving him his full attention because this feels like it’s one of those moments when he should. It’s not as if James told him _‘This one’s for you’_ but it very much feels like it, with the way he’s reading, his tone and his unwavering gaze.

James sits up on his knees, then shuffles until he’s at the foot of the bed and plops down, feet on the floor; nearer but not close enough to touch Tony. This time he looks down at the dog eared book, hesitates for a second; a second that shakes up Tony on the insides, then he inhales deeply and with a soft smile and a softer voice, he reads;

“The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,  
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;  
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,  
The vision seriously intends to stay;”

He looks at Tony,

“- If I could tell you I would let you know.”

Tony kicks his feet on the ground and the chair rolls him towards James.

“Suppose the lions all get up and go,  
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;  
Will time say nothing but I told you so?”

; James reads.

“If I could tell you I would let you know.”

Cupping his face, Tony crawls onto his lap and kisses him. James tosses the book aside to hug Tony and he tips them both down until his back hits the bed; Tony on top of him and they kiss until the world around them shifts and disappears and nothing else remains but only them.

Later, when Tony looks up the poem, he learns that James had skipped a verse. More than that, he reads the analysis of the poem, how apparently Auden wrote the poem in a more grievance tone than to what Tony had felt when James had read it; _hope_ , for their blossoming romance. He reads all the other analysis available for the poem and decides to stick to that good feeling he’d felt when James had recited it. It still doesn’t explain why James skipped one verse even if Tony can guess the why.

He closes the tab, shuts down his laptop, goes to bed and he dreams about asking James but he never does.

The next day, he wakes up to a good morning text from James and he completely forgets about his late night internet adventure.

Dating James also includes a lot of messy fumbling.

Tony flushes the toilet, zips up his pants, washes his hands and stares at the mirror. He’s flushed with kiss swollen lips that feel numb. There’s sheen of sweat over his forehead that he wipes at hastily. He hears James’ feet scuffing the floorboard outside and he muffles a giddy laugh behind the back of his hand.

“Come out. I’m getting sticky.”

Tony schools his expression, unlocks the door and opens it, standing put in front of the sink. “Go ahead,” He nods at the toilet challengingly and James rolls his eyes at him, wiggling soiled fingers at Tony’s face until Tony screams and ducks outside the bathroom. The lock clicks and Tony giggles, plopping onto the bed after scanning briefly to make sure there are no weird stains on the sheet.

There are a clumps of tissues in the rubbish bin at the side of the bed and a deep inhale of the trapped air takes him back to vivid memories of what they had been up to just minutes earlier making Tony bury his head into the pillow and hide the too wide grin that hurts his entire face.

It hasn’t taken too long before kissing invited groping into its sessions and soon, heavy pettings. Two weeks later, Tony had slipped an experimental finger under James’ waistband and James had watched as two more digits followed, as the zipper had come undone and he’d allowed Tony to touch him.

Since then, it’s been hard to keep their hands off of each other. Right now, they’re at the point where they’re mutually jacking each other off as they talk explicitly about what they’d like to do to one another. In Tony’s mind, it’s when Tony will turn sixteen and James will finally fuck him. Because that is something James had refused to do while Tony is fifteen. “I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right,” no matter how hard Tony pouts. Like sixteen is any more legal than fifteen.

So the first time they fuck, Tony is sixteen, James is seventeen and he tells Tony to “go slow”.

“When I said I want you to fuck me, I meant, you inside me.”

James chuckles, “Next time,” as he slips the condom over Tony’s cock, straddles him and takes him.

“Next time, you’re letting me prep you.” Tony pants, clutching at James hip as he slowly slips, inch by inch down on Tony. Because James is a bastard, he thinks he’s doing Tony a favour by prepping himself but he doesn’t know, how fast it’ll tip Tony over if Tony is to imagine his fingers stretching out James.

James laughs, half gasps and half moans. He’s ethereal as he sits on top of Tony; the milky way spread out like a halo over his head. His hair’s longish, falling in front of his face, tickling his nose and cheeks and Tony reaches a shaky hand up to push those strands behind his ear. James leans down then, eyes with clear grey rings as they pierce through soul and he cups Tony’s cheeks and kisses him long and slow, savouring as he rolls his hips; sweet lips and wicked hips, Tony thinks dazedly.

It doesn’t take long for Tony to come. When he’s done, he helps to stroke James into completion. Sticky ropes of evidence spiral messily over Tony’s stomach and at that moment, with James grinning abashedly; fair skin flushed pink, brown hair matted and grey eyes blown out dark as the night sky, Tony loves him.

Afterwards, James kisses him and quietly murmurs the missing verse;

“There are no fortunes to be told, although  
Because I love you more than I can say,  
If I could tell you I would let you know.”

Outside, the first summer rain pelts against the window and as they breathe, their chests rising and dipping in sync, Tony thinks about the coming days, of graduation, summer and college. Of falling in love, holding hands and soft kisses. Of James and of himself and he wonders about their unfolding future.

There are so many things he isn’t sure about. There are so many possibilities laid out for them to explore as they grow up. Their own relationship may fade over time or it may also become a foundation for something stronger than what it is now; they don’t know that yet.

Only time will tell;

_Time will say nothing but I told you so,  
Time only knows the price we have to pay_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have come to an end, hurra!  
> next chap will be an epilogue. a quick wrap up, some time jumps and we'll be done  
> thank you for all those who've stuck by, those who'd just arrived, welcome aboard, home you have a good journey through this story  
> funny how my initial motivation to write this was smut but now i'm shy-ing around the idea lol
> 
> ref : Poem by WH Auden - If I Could Tell You


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i be three days later to 2020?

Summer passes by like a breeze.

Obadiah Stane tries to take over the company and Howard gets so absorbed saving his empire and his own name that he doesn’t realise just how tightly Tony is wrapped up in another boy.

Summer is baking with Jarvis, bike rides and picnic up the hill top behind the neighbourhood, swimming in the lake on the other side of the hill, and getting too hot and too sticky with James.

Summer is buoyant and like everything else it comes with an expiry date.

The day James gets his acceptance letter is both joyful and sad. Tony accompanies him to visit the campus. James pushes him up shady tree and kisses him stupid; “ _I want to remember you like this. When you’re not with me, I want to come here and remember how you feel now, how you look, how you make me feel – I want to remember.”_

 _“I love you.”_ Tony says. _“Remember this too.”_

Summer is fleeting after that. Three weeks flash by like three hours and Jarvis is baking two trays of chocolate chips cookies to send away with James.

Tony starts holding onto James tighter, kissing him longer, breathing him deeper. _“I don’t want to let go.”_ He tells him, feeling his eyes burn. James wipes away his hair and tears and smiles, _“It’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.”_

James lies. He’s not back before Tony knows it. Instead, he’s gone for whole two months and Tony feels every single day without him grating his soul as if his heart got yanked out of his being. James misses him too. He’s warm and too thin when he comes back for Christmas. Jarvis puts butter in everything to fatten him up. Then the New Year arrives, James leaves, Obadiah Stane is sentenced to ten years in prison, Howard returns, finds all about Tony’s plan to go to MIT and whips him so bad Tony doesn’t go to school for two days.

Ferocity is an overpowering motivation; Tony perfects the AI programme he’s been working on for years, shoves it at Howard’s face and for the first time in his life, Tony stands tall and demands Howard lets him decide his own future. In return; _“I’ll run the company when you retire,”_ he nods pointedly at the pen drive in Howard’s hand. _I’m capable_ , goes without saying.

At seventeen, Tony goes to MIT.

At seventeen, Tony meets Rhodey and relearns about friendship. They get on like wild fire, so fast, so close that even James becomes jealous.

But as soon as James witnesses their interaction first hand, all those jealousy dissipates into thin air. _“Like Stevie and I,”_ James tells Tony and that was the first time Tony puts a name to that blank face in his head. It’s also the first night Tony sleeps without a sinking weight in his stomach wondering, _What if… What if, he was alive? Will I still have James?_

At seventeen, Tony tastes alcohol for the first time and drunk dials James to tell him how much he misses him.

He cries. Because it’s hard, it’s difficult, and it’s too much effort to maintain a long distance relationship. They still see each other whenever one of their college let leave but most of the time, it’s all face time and constant texting.

It’s hard because sometimes all his friends will be getting shit faced and gyrating on strangers in the club while Tony has to nurse his drink and sit like a good boy at the bar. He doesn’t want to be a good boy. He wants to be there, out on the dance floor, feeling another body all over his but he also doesn’t want it to be anybody but James.

It’s difficult because Tony is horny. He’s young and his hormones are raging, he sees couples making out left and right and he can feel James’s mouth on his, all over him. He can feel James inside him and when he goes into his room, locks the door and slides under the blanket with the dial tone ringing and when James answers, sees Tony naked and starts stripping – the fucking screen freezes and Tony doesn’t want to jack off to a frozen shot of James with his shirt covering his face, his voice disappearing into radio static – no. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t but they can’t help it; his erection dies and he gets so frustrated that he picks fight with Rhodey for no reasons after that.

 _“When all these end, we’re going to disappear for three months in a lone island and have marathon sex.”_ He promises James.

Tony turns eighteen alone in his dorm room because Rhodey is back home with his mama for the weekend, Jarvis has to run an errand for Howard and James is yanking his hair out revising for his finals. He cries about it.

Three days later, James pays him a surprise visit and Tony kicks Rhodey out of their shared dorm room so James can make up to him.

At eighteen, Tony has already perfected prosthesis, robotics, AI and he goes on to invent a psycho-simulation therapy that helps tackling PTSD.

At nineteen, Tony gets his first doctorate. At nineteen, he signs up for a second because James’ programme takes three more years to finish and Howard is waiting behind the line like a shark to snatch him up and feed him to the board.

At nineteen, he finally snaps and tells Howard to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine when he pulls out his fancy belt to mark Tony’s skin.

At twenty, James tells Tony that he’d just gotten accepted to a student exchange programme in Prague for a year and Tony tells him, “Let’s take a break”.

Because it was already hard as it is, living in the same country and now James wants to cross the ocean? Tony doesn’t want to tie him up. He wants James to have everything he can have at that age, including a variety in the bed.

Neither of them has slept with anyone else but each other. Neither of them has dated anyone else, or has been single. James asks him if he’s done. Tony says, “No, I love you. I will always. I just don’t want you to miss your life.”

“What makes you think I’m missing my life? I like the live I’m living in. Do you not?”

“It’s not that -,”

“Then what is it?” James almost yells.

Tony squares his shoulders _,_ “You’re going to Europe. I don’t want you to be there and be in a position in which you stop yourself from doing something you want to do because of our relationship.”

“Our relationship has never stopped me from doing anything, Tony.” James replies calmly. _Did it stop you?_ He doesn’t ask, but the question is there, hanging.

Tony ducks his head in shame. He doesn’t know, to be exact. He’s young and thriving and it feels weird to have _everything_ at such a youthful age. He’s suspicious, he’s doubtful. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop since the day he first kissed James but it hasn’t dropped and he’s so terrified that he drops it himself.

“If that’s what you want…”

Tony is twenty, young, single and for the first time in a very long time, lonely.

James is leaving in a fortnight, they haven’t seen each other since that night Tony asked for a break and Tony refuses to let things part that way. So he picks up his phone, puts on a jacket and drives himself to James’ place at 2.34 in the morning. He calls James, asks him to open the door and lets himself in, pinning James to the wall. “I don’t want us to be like this _.”_ He says as he kisses him.

He fucks James into the mattress, curls around him with his head on James’ chest and they talk about what they want as the sun pries the night clouds out of the sky outside. They decide to tell each other everything. _No lies; everything,_ _no matter what_. To be best friends more than boyfriends while James is out-station. They don’t put a name to what they’ll be precisely, but it’s the clearest agreement nonetheless.

Two weeks later, Tony kisses James goodbye at the airport and feels as if he’s being ripped in half as he watches James walk away from him.

At twenty one, Howard dies in a car crash leaving his empire and all of his treasure to Tony. One PhD away from completing a triplet, Tony drops out of his doctorate programme in MIT to answer to a room full of corporate sharks waiting eagerly to feast on him.

Short 12 hours of attending his first board meeting, he calls James who is still in Prague and has a full-on meltdown over the phone.

“Honey, do me a favour and stay put where you are.”

He’s in the men’s loo but Tony nods, throat raw from all the crying.

Half an hour later, he’s being rescued from the stall in the fourteenth floor of the Stark Tower by a fierce red head in a pantsuit and a sharp pair of green eyes who demands he follows her and gives him the feel that if he doesn’t, he’ll be stabbed twelve times over.

Tony’s brain doesn’t register the journey but it goes something like; blink, and he is facing another red head, only her red is as soft as her eyes and she’s kinder, gentler, but no less fierce.

That’s how Tony meets Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanov’s girlfriend, and the woman who will later come to rule his life. Well, at least the professional part of it.

At twenty-one, Tony is the youngest CEO in the country and he hires Pepper Potts who has just graduated with honour in Business Management from Harvard to be his PA.

James talks about visiting him, but he doesn’t. He’s swamped with exams and doing internship at a local hospital speaking butchered local language. He’s busier than Tony and Tony takes his free time to the fanciest club and drinks himself stupor for one night. He brings back a lady in his left arm and a lad in his right. He watches as they make out on his bed for twenty minutes and kicks them out with slurred apologies when they start touching him.

The next day, he boards the jet on a whim to Prague after spending most of his night in the shower, scrubbing himself raw and he waits for James at the front door of his apartment building until the sun goes down.

It takes exactly three hours and forty eight minutes before he sees James. But when he does, all the air leaves out of his lungs and he’s as breathless as he was when he was fifteen years old in high school watching the cool guy in leather pants and leather jacket strut down the corridor. It both excites him and makes him realise how stupid he has been for ever leaving James unattached like this in Europe; the continent where beauty exists in every corner you turn, Tony’s seen about hundreds of pretty men and women in those three hours he’d waited and it worries him. Anyone can snatch James up any second if they want.

James is gorgeous, as always. He’s perfection; beautiful even with dark circles under his eyes. He wears exhaustion like Tony wears Armani and Tony both loves him and envies him for it.

He tells him what he did.

“Why’d you stop?” James asks him, tipping more wine into his glass and Tony watches as he puts his second glass down with too much ease.

“I didn’t like it?”

“Specify.” James grunts, cracking his neck and his joint pops. Tony feels like he’s exhausting him even more on top of all his exhaustion. He wonders when the last time James wasn’t tired. He thinks he remembers and he wants to bring that back.

“I look at them and they weren’t you.” He says. “No one is you but you.”

James’ eyes meet his and they’re glazed as if he’s numb. His fingers reach out for Tony and Tony meets them halfway, curling around them and clutching. “I missed you.” He murmurs into their skin as he brings them up for a kiss.

“I’m tired.” James tells him. “I’m going to take a bath.”

When he gets up to leave, he asks, “Join me?” And Tony gladly does.

Sunk in warmth and surrounded by wet skin, James tells him, “I’m sorry about everything.” Tony doesn’t know which one he’s referring to; Howard’s passing, the board meeting disaster, their unnamed relationship or the distance James had put between them. “Me too,” He says, tipping his head back into James’ shoulder and wills them back together; in relationship, at home, sixteen and Jarvis is baking in the kitchen and all they have to worry is about being quiet while James makes love to him.

It was a flickering light bulb sort of epiphany right then, a brief, fleeting surprised, not-really-a-realisation-but-still-a-realisation thing; as he back tracks to what he refers as making love and he smiles because he’s been always calling it ‘fucking’ in his head but really, all along, it has always been making love with James, hasn’t it? Hell, it doesn’t even feel too cheesy to refer as such - like it had years back.

They sleep in James’ bed. No sex, no make-outs, just sleep. In the morning, James wakes up at five, kisses him on the forehead and promises to be back for lunch. Tony only remembers those words and the smell of toast as he drifts back to sleep. The next time he wakes up, it’s to the apartment door opening as James lets himself in, dragging along with him delicious smell of meat and baked pastries.

“You look tired.” James tells him as they eat. Tony kicks at his shin and glowers around a mouthful of fresh croissant. “You’re one to say.”

James chuckles at that. Says he has to get back to class in an hour and asks what Tony’s planning to do next. “I should probably go back.” Tony tells him, scuffing the floorboard with those indoor fluffy slippers he stole from James. “I want to pack you into my pocket and fly away.”

James snorts. “And I want to be packed into your pocket and be flown away.” He hums around his coffee cup. That prompts a lingering moment of wordless gazing into each other’s eyes and James intertwines their fingers when Tony reaches out for him. Sandwiches Tony’s leg in between his and let’s Tony lean in and kiss him on the lips.

He’s quiet as Tony courageously climbs onto his lap and is quiet throughout the little pecks and a smatter of kisses all over his face. He’s quiet when Tony presses their foreheads together and brings their intertwined hands up for a kiss. He’s quiet as Tony slides down and presses an ear over his heart and listens to it beat. He’s quiet even as Tony tells him, “Let’s go back. I want those face times. I want failed attempts at jacking off at your frozen face in the screen. I want to know you’re mine and I want to be yours. Let’s go back to being boyfriends, or whatever we were then.”

He’s quiet; too quiet. Tony begins to worry if he’d said something wrong. “James?”

Carefully, James shifts so Tony’s no longer weighing him down. Carefully and quietly, he puts a space in between them, all the while Tony’s hand is still cradled gently in his and his eyes fixed on it.

“Do you know how serious I am about you?” He asks Tony calmly. “Do you know that while you were worrying about all those other people I’m not sleeping with, I was thinking about proposing to you?”

A shudder wrecks through Tony’s spine. “It’s alright,” James tells him. “It took me awhile but I understood where you were coming from when you said we should have a break.” He pauses to inhale then shakes his head as if he cannot believe it. “Now you’re asking us to go back to what we were before.”

Fear rankled and reeked. Tony holds his breath and asks hoarsely, “Is it too late?”

“No.” James shakes his head. “I just want you to know that for me, you’re ** _it_**. I don’t need to date anyone else or sleep with anyone else to know that I only want you for the rest of my life. So if we’re restarting this, I want to make it clear just how serious I am with you because it didn’t seem like you were aware the first time around.”

 _Commitment_ is one terrifying word that slams around in Tony’s head like a ball in the squash court. He looks at James who’s waiting for him patiently and wills himself to breathe. He sees all of his past years and his present days littered with memories of this man and he knows in his core how he feels about him. “I love you.” He tells him. Always have and always will. “But I think – I – I mean, um -,”

“Need some time to think?” James finishes for him softly and Tony nods, sagging into the couch and into James. “Hey.” James says, “No pressure. I’m not going to run away if you say no.”

But the thing is –

Tony boards the flight back to New York City. Pepper isn’t happy, but what’s new about that.

\- The thing is, Tony isn’t really thinking about saying no.

He spends his days and the next six or twelve months packed with schedules to revamp the company, to convince the board that he’s reliable, to keep the empire from falling down, really. He gets sucked into the duty; when he’s not in some kind of meeting, he’s reading and signing documents in his office, when he’s home, he’s in the workshop sketching new schematics, perfecting another product, inventing something exciting.

He barely realises the time passing until James standing at the doorway to his workshop, watching him working. A soft smile on his face when Tony jolts, wrench dropping from his hand and he’s about ten deep breaths from bolting into James’ arms.

Which he does anyway; shamelessly, climbing right on top of him, almost toppling James back with their combined weight. Then he does something without thinking because thoughts? What are they?

He kisses James smack on the mouth, realises mid kiss what he’s doing, waits for James to pull away but when he doesn’t, Tony simply melts into him.

They make love.

Frantic groping and rushing to feel each other’s skin and abruptly slowing down like gentle waves in the ocean once they’re wrapped around the other; simple, soft and basking in the luxury of finally hold, feel and taste each other again; after bloody, so, fucking long.

“Please tell me you’re not leaving anymore.” Tony gasps, breathless as James pulls out of him. Hot, wet and messy, he grins into James’ hair when James sprawls on top of him. The edge and the back of the couch is restricting, Tony’s skin itches from its fabric, but at the moment, he couldn’t give a single fuck to that.

“Only one more year back to Uni and it’ll be over.”

“US though.”

“US.” James confirms. “Missed you.”

Tony hums, carding fingers through James’ hair. He’s feeling appropriately blissed out. A private cocoon of perfect happiness carved out of from the rest of the world just for James and him. “Did J, let you in?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

James stops breathing. Tony feels the rise of his chest pause suddenly and doesn’t dip. His own fingers still in motion. That was bold because he’d assumed, but – It’s been what now? _Months_ since they last talked about it, James may not even –

“Do you?” James asks voice uncharacteristically rough as he tips his head up to look into Tony’s eyes. Eyes bright like they always have been, hauntingly beautiful.

“I do.” Tony tells him. “You should ask Jarvis first. You know, guardian and – stop smiling like that. It’s creepy.” He scolds, but neither can he.

At twenty three, James graduates and puts a ring on Tony’s finger.

At twenty five, Tony writes his name next to James in the marriage register book and changes their status to a married couple in privacy of Jarvis and their closest friends. He calls James his husband at home and in bed and shrugs off all the comments the world make about getting married too young. They make a promise for a happily ever after and for the first time, Tony indulges himself to believe in it.

It’s tough still. Both of their jobs take them places and quench the last of their hours out of them. When they’re at home, they’re exhausted to bones and can only manage to sink into the sofa and remember to chew before they swallow – that too, if they manage to remember to eat at all.

But they love each other. Has loved each other way before everything; has been a family before they were certified as one. They stick together through tough and rough like it’s nothing because they’ve done that before.

The lowest of the hit came in the form of Jarvis’ passing when Tony’s thirty. James thirty-two, doing internships in surgery that goes for more than half a day per case, two cases a day and they almost lose it.

They drift apart. The crack is too big to be cemented back flawlessly and Tony leaves the city to spend a few months managing the branch in Malibu. He hates himself through it. Forgets why he hated James to start with and one day, he puts down the soldering iron, doesn’t even bother looking in the mirror before he takes the Audi and drives all the way across the land to where his other half is.

A single cup of coffee and an apology are all it take for them to patch that crack and after that, it’s easier.

When Tony’s thirty-eight, James is a successful consultant and they both can finally afford the time for a longer honeymoon, touring the country on motorbikes and a baby girl. Tony gives the company over to Pepper with complete trust and confidence in her capability and promotes himself to fatherhood along with James.

It’s damn near to a happily ever after he’d ever dared dreamt of alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait. i was two paragraph from ending it when a block hit. yikes, but well, i did my best.  
> thank you for sticking by to those who have stuck by. I love you, I'll baby sit your baby or pet for you FOC.  
> this fic has a tumblr post [right here](https://anthonyed.tumblr.com/post/190038708397/title-teenage-dream-relationship)


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